The Art of Secrecy
by We'reAllABitOdd
Summary: With the Fullmetal Alchemist's return to Hogwarts for his second year, there is bound to be trouble. More so than even the Boy who Lived, Harry Potter, could stir up alone. With suspicions on the rise, will people find out more than they bargained for about the strange, foreign boy who, after a year, still continues to allude the students of Hogwarts? The Art of Opposites sequel!
1. Chapter 1

The halls of the command centre were no stranger to the loud footsteps of combat boot-wearing feet, either individually or in groups of varying sizes, that echoed around them but none were quite as loud or quite as echoey as that certain set of uneven footsteps that hammered across the ground with no lack of intention. The same pair that had been absent for a long time but had since returned as though they had never disappeared, thundering about every now and then, during the past month, at intervals that had been deemed normal a couple of years prior.

Colonel Roy Mustang could never help but to wince discreetly when he heard those footsteps, fumbling gloved hands as minutely as he could manage. They never meant anything good for him, merely that his young, arrogant, short tempered, irritatingly skilled subordinate was returning from his assigned mission, probably eager for another that his C.O. was just as eager to give.

But it was different this time: Edward Elric, the owner of these distinct footfalls, had not been on a mission, there was no time as he would have to leave in a couple of weeks anyway, and there were no assignments that were particularly suited to the youngest of the state alchemists, who was nothing if not a loose cannon. Why was he storming down the hallways in those boots, with soles thicker than they had any right to be when he seemed to have no purpose in being there?

Anyone who knew Edward Elric knew he and his brother were never apart voluntarily. Surely he'd want to spend that time with the younger brother from whom he had spent so many months separated?

However, Mustang was cut from his contemplations before he could draw a conclusion. The door to his office was slammed open, quickly with a forceful kick that caused it to impact the wall behind it with a loud bang, as the Fullmetal Alchemist was known to do. Mustang may not have enjoyed the marring of his wall where evidence of the repetition of such incidents was evident, or the protesting squeaks and groans of the old hinges that seemed to threaten they would give out should they have to endure much more of the same treatment. He did, however, very much enjoy the welcome distraction from the paperwork he would otherwise have to hurriedly sign under the watchful eyes of Hawkeye whose hand never strayed from the point on her hip at which it hovered intentionally, right beside the holster of a pistol only an idiot would doubt her ability with.

"Colonel Bastard," the young voice of the twelve-year-old who was hard to consider such spoke from the chair across the office where he had promptly flung himself upon entry. Mustang had long since learned it was a futile effort to request the boy remove his feet, boots still on and, knowing the boy, probably caked in mud and, perhaps, a few things that were a fair bit worse.

"Fullmetal," Mustang nodded curtly, eyeing Ed curiously "What brings you here?" He registered with vague surprise that Ed drew an instrument of sorts, his wand, Mustang reminded himself bitterly, twirling the long piece of dark macabre wood through his fingers as he spoke. The Colonel knew what it was but had yet to see it due to the strict restrictions on magic use outside of Hogwarts.

"There's an issue with the trains," Ed said simply, dully.

"Being?" Mustang questioned.

"There aren't any to England over the next couple of weeks - the only one that leaves in time for me to get back to Hogwarts," Mustang still could not repress a humoured snort at the beyond ludicrous name, "departs at 0900 hours tomorrow. I don't have any way of alerting anyone on time - Onyx can't fly that far that quickly - about booking me a room in the Leaky Cauldron for the time being."

Mustang listened, reminding himself partway through that Onyx was the name of Ed's owl (what an odd pet it was, one who didn't particularly like Mustang as she had vocalised in her shrill squawks of protest any time he attempted to near her age or bring her in when she returned to Ed) and the Leaky Cauldron was a pub and inn, another ridiculous name conjured up by the wizarding world of Britain. Unfortunately, neither he nor Hawkeye could materialise a solution to Ed's problem. They sat there in a silence, silence that was rarely found amongst a group that contained either Ed or Mustang much less one with both, contemplating various solutions that were thrown away or deemed ridiculous as quickly as they had come. It was a saving grace of some sort when there was a sort of scratching sound on the window.

Ed was used to the noise by this point in time and walked towards the window without a second thought, watching the owl hovering outside by the window with slight interest as he allowed it entry to the room. He calmly removed the little letter from its leg, allowing it to fly freely over to Mustang's desk where it made itself cosy, a nest of ripped papers and the like, among the paperwork that was already messy and haphazard. Mustang tried to hide his smile clearly not doing a good enough job as he noted Hawkeye side-eyeing him, hand laying to rest on that terrifying gun of hers, he gulped.

"Dear Mr Elric," Ed read aloud, translating the writing from English to Amestrian before speaking, scowling slightly at the manner in which he had been addressed.

Mustang observed the expression inquisitively. He, of all people, was well acquainted with the scowl of the young alchemist and could honestly say he was sure this scowl was different. It almost seemed friendlier, like a mere mock scowl. It was odd, as far as Mustang was concerned, Ed's kindness was reserved for only his brother and the only other side to the boy was the evil one that confronted, challenged, argued and, ultimately, won most arguments.

"As I'm sure you are aware," Ed continued "We have run into a fair amount of difficulty where the train timetables are confirmed." Ed nodded slightly to himself "As my student, you are my responsibility where matters of your education are concerned;"

"Good luck to him," Mustang snickered, earning himself a fiery gold glare as a display of the displeasure Ed felt at Mustang's less than pleasant statement.

Ed continued, clearing his throat and making sure, through body language alone, Mustang knew he was not off the hook "Your ability to access your place of learning is among these matters. As such, it had been agreed amongst myself and Mrs Weasley, who assures me you are at least semi-familiar with her and friends with her youngest son, that you are to stay with her for the remainder of the summer holidays until you return to Hogwarts." Another snicker from Mustang, "During your stay, Molly has assured me her family will be making a trip to Diagon Alley, at which point you can purchase your school books," Ed paused as he read the next part, a sly smile adorning his face. That was the sort of expression Mustang was accustomed to seeing on Ed's face, not particularly pleasant, slightly feral. "If you did not already in yours, as I am told extensive, recreational reading last year, as well as any extra books you would like to purchase for the upcoming year. Alongside books, it is imperative you purchase anything else you may need for the upcoming year. I am sure I will see you on September 1st, ready and excited for a new year of new learning," It was Ed's turn to snicker "best regards, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Mustang's brow furrowed as he watched the name spill from Ed's mouth, a torrent of words that stretched out for much longer than most names did, much longer than any Mustang ever bothered to memorise. "Quite the name," he commented offhandedly.

"You know I hate to agree with you…" Ed sighed. His eyes trailed back down to his gloved hands, the one part of his appearance ever kept pristine as the automail hidden beneath could be damaged and was advantageous to him in fights should he keep the element of surprise there.

He then looked up, eyes blazing as he stared at Mustang. He had not forgotten the comment made by his amused superior and had remembered to be angry about it. Mustang thought it was ridiculous but his ears did not as he heard the yell of "What did you mean by 'Good luck to him' bastard?" screamed at the top of the boy's lungs.

With the slightest of winces, Mustang's hands cupped his ears. "Geez," He complained "How is it such a tiny person has such a massive voice?" he was aware of the weight his words held to his young subordinate but the reaction prompted was what he had wanted.

"Who are you calling so small even Sherlock Holmes wouldn't notice him at a crime scene?!" Mustang laughed, despite the way his ears rang with the sheer volume of the boy's outburst, ignoring the fact he had absolutely no idea who Sherlock Holmes was.

…...

Harry Potter was miserable. How could he not be after he spent his summer sitting alone in 'his' room, surrounded by memorabilia from Dudley's spoiled life? When he was alone without his trunk full of miscellaneous wizarding supplies and his wand? When he had finally believed he had friends, but then why had he spent the entirety of his summer holidays up until then without a word from a single one of them? When his owl, Hedwig, perhaps his only companion in that lonesome household, had been locked away in her cage, and unable to leave?

Harry Potter was dismal and only became more so when he happened across that little greyish figure, clothed in the garb reminiscent of a hastily fastened pillow case, decorated with stains and discolouration. Dobby was the house elf's name, with his wide, green, tennis ball-eyes had brought about nothing but further disaster to the already imperfect life of the unfortunate boy.

The poor elf did not appear to do what he did out of spite. When he took away Harry's friend's letters when he insisted Harry didn't return to Hogwarts, his home, when he dropped the levitated pudding on the head of the seemingly esteemed guest of the Dursleys. When he had done all of that he had been insistent he only wanted to protect the boy. Harry had fallen under the blanket of blame for the elf's actions, and he was most certainly not pleased about that.

Over the first four weeks of that six week holiday, he had been lording the potential to do things they were simply incapable of over the heads of the Dursleys. But that letter, the message of warning from Mafalda Hopkirk who had informed him that underage magic was strictly not allowed outside Hogwarts, had snatched that away from him, rendered him nothing more than the simple, mundane human who could do nothing to them despite his efforts. He wouldn't give up his home for something as simple and inane as that.

Things had changed when the car had turned up outside his barred-up window. And he meant outside the window: suspended in the air, level in equilibrium to that of the second-floor bedroom. In that car, the noisy and definitely magical Ford Anglia were three very familiar faces. There were a fair few similarities shared across each face. All of them were redheaded, dotted in freckles like constellations littering their pale skin, eyes brown and warm. They were friendly and had instantly made Harry feel much better about his terrible summer, even as he was left dangling from the car and the window, arm held tightly by one of the twins, ankle held in desperation by his red-faced uncle who had never resembled a walrus more than at that moment. Eventually, in the battle between motor and man, the motor had inevitably come out the winner, and the man had fallen into the bushes below the once barred window.

That was how Harry had found himself struggling to amber into the moving car, far above the ground. It didn't take him long to decide it was worth it entirely; when he sat there, breathing heavily, inside the Weasley's car, watching Surrey pass below them like a country made exclusively for dolls. It was then he realised he was free from his tormentors, the Dursleys.

The sun had begun to rise in the horizon when Harry's eyes landed on the Weasley's family home. It was like an illustration straight out of a children's book, the house itself an impossible feat of architecture without the aid of magic. It was like a series of extensions stacked upon one another haphazardly, piling up so the building began to extend towards the watercolour sky of the approaching morning. In the front garden, also a marvel of aspects of the wizarding world piled together in a seemingly random but very charming way, there was a handmade sign that declared the place to be 'The Burrow'.

They left the car in its rightful place and began towards the building, moving quietly (or trying to at least) over luscious green grass, damp with morning dew. Harry felt the moisture soak through his socks, cold against his feet. The air itself was also rather cold despite it being the middle of summer.

However, the second he set foot into the Weasley's abode, Harry could feel the cold that had managed to seep into his bones be flushed out by a homely sort of warmth. There were pastries sitting in a basket on the kitchen table, the cosy room packed with a lot of furniture that, rather than making it feel claustrophobic at all, only made it seem more personal. Even the air smelt warm, like a pleasant conglomerate of cinnamon, ginger, and every other spice in the world mixed with bread, and cakes, and buns, and pastries in the most perfect of manners. It tasted ever so slightly sweet as though tiny particles of icing sugar danced through the air at all times.

With a few quick glances about the room, Fred and George declared the coast clear and, in unison, all three Weasley boys made a grab for the pastries, sinking their teeth into them as the words "I don't suppose mum'll notice if we take one of these…" were spoken. The room was dim but Harry could still see every inch of it in perfect clarity and was glad about that.

"It's not much," Ron was standing to his side, sounding nervous, though for what reason Harry wasn't sure "But it's home." Harry hadn't intended it to, but his face split with a wide, appreciative smile that he was unsure whether or not Ron caught in the somehow pleasant tenebrosity of the kitchen.

"I think," he informed his friend without an instant of hesitation, "it's great!" Then it was Ron's turn to smile, ear splittingly, as he took another large bite of his pastry still smiling as he chewed.

Then the light flickered before bursting into life, full bloom and bright to the point of blinding. Just as quickly, three pastry-holding hands disappeared behind their respective owner's backs.

In the illuminated doorway there stood a stout figure Harry vaguely recognised. It was Molly Weasley, dressed in night clothes, and she was positively fuming, her clothes somehow adding to the look of fierceness. It did not take her long to approach and begin to reprimand her irresponsible sons, never laying any blame on Harry who was just left to awkwardly twist any loose thread he could find on his clothes between bony fingers as he watched the reprimanding, a most likely unwanted onlooker to his friends' scolding.

Molly Weasley had no objections to the presence of Harry Potter in her house, on the contrary, she was desperate to nurture the stick-thin, sickly-looking boy her youngest son had called a best friend over and over again. Her only problem with his presence was the means by which it had been brought about.

After the initial awkwardness of the introductions and Ginny's overwhelming sudden bout of shyness that extended to extremes far beyond reason, in Harry's eyes. The meal had come and gone, Harry had never had someone outright offer him as much food as Molly had - not even close. He had seen the grandeur of the spreads of the Hogwarts feasts but those were communal dishes. The food that sat upon his plate in that little, unique household was exclusively his, It was as strange as it was pleasant.

As soon as the plates had been cleared, much aided by heavy uses of magic, Molly stood up at the head of the table and made sure she cleared her throat loud enough to draw everyone's attention. "Right," She began, "I know we have Harry here now and it's very exciting," Fred and George made cheering noises, whooping and hollering as though they were present in the audience at some rather brilliant concert. Molly of course ignoring them continued, "but I am to collect another guest later this evening." Harry felt himself begin to wonder who this guest was; he hoped that it was Ed.

It would seem, in that instance, lady luck had been on Harry's side. He supposed it was only fair: he had suffered her negligence for years. "Harry, Ron, your friend Edward will be joining us for the rest of the holiday due to some complications with travel." Neither Ron nor Harry found themselves to particularly care about the reasons - they'd be having a further friend to come and stay with them for the time being. Their happiness was a sentiment shared amongst Fred and George.

"Eddo," Fred began.

"Our dearest" and George continued.

"Ickle Ronnikins'," Fred keeping the ball rolling, but still taking the chance to make fun of his brother.

"Slytherin friend"

"Who'd probably"

"Be better off in"

"Ravenclaw!" They said as though the act had been rehearsed although it clearly, due to the given circumstance, simply couldn't have been.

"Edward?" Arthur questioned. Molly nodded. "What do you know about him?"

Molly answering her husband "He comes from Amestris which is, Ron, Harry, please do correct me if I am mistaken "A rather secluded nation rather different from ours."

A spark, like a fire ignited in the soul of the fiery-haired man, appeared "Was he raised in a Muggle manner in this nation of his?" There was a smile stretched across his face that Harry had seen when the man had been quizzing him about parts of Muggle society he had assumed throughout the course of his life were common knowledge to most everyone.

Hesitantly, Ron nodded, already crinkling his brow and gritting his teeth in anticipation of the ridiculous questions that were sure to follow when Ed arrived. "And what time are you due to pick him up?" Arthur asked after a moment, the almost devious glint not having faded to any extent.

Molly's eyes flitted over a clock face for a split second before she responded. "Quarter to six," She said decisively, "about two hours from now."

With that and an excited, unofficial staring contest held between Harry and Ron, the conversation died out to be replaced with a vague sense of apprehension.

 **A/N**

 **I'm updating this chapter because the wonderful BlackWolf478 has beta-d it for me! I should have the next chapter up before too long, in a couple of days most likely, and am going to have to say I'm glad everyone has enjoyed the first chapter so much!**

 **All the best,**

 **We'reAllABitOdd**


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Weasley felt awfully hot standing on the terribly crowded Muggle platform of Kings Cross in the height of the British summer that, for as rainy as it was characteristical, was burning under the intense heat of the sun. She was waiting to see one specific train come speeding into the station, halting right by the platform at which she was waiting.

She must have looked fairly lost, soft, gentle, motherly eyes of brown scanning the platform inquisitively yet rather frantically. Her hands refused to be still, constantly reaching up to pull loose strands of red hair from her face, standing in the midst of that bustling crowd but not moving along with its urgently flowing strong current. So she understood why the man working there approached her, question sitting on the tip of his tongue.

She quickly, rather startled by the sudden appearance of the Muggle to her side whose presence she had in no way anticipated, dismissed his concern; told him she was merely waiting for someone, But he hadn't left following her dismissal. He had remained, hovering at her elbow, watching with narrowed eyes the same spot as she. He looked at the paper in his hands, double checking the printed timetable upon it.

"You're sure," he said after a moment, voice seemingly soft as only the barest trace of it passed cleanly over the raucous of an arriving train and sudden swell in the volume of both chatter and footsteps "That this is the correct platform?"

"Positive." She confirmed with a furrowed brow and perhaps a decreased amount of confidence than she had held initially.

"Really?" His eyebrows travelled upwards on his forehead, disappearing somewhere behind a dark fringe "You're aware of where this train is travelling from, right?"

She nodded before supplying him with a simple response "Amestris."

"You're really waiting for someone from Amestris?" She nodded again and he continued to speak to her as though she had spewed to him the most incomprehensible slew of information of existence. She didn't understand his confusion: it was hardly as though she had attempted to explain the wizarding community to him with no trace of notice or proof. "But," he tried again, "very few people know Amestris even exists. It's a weird place - they can leave the country but noncitizens can't be granted entry unless they have explicit permission from someone with a high status in their government, unless, of course, they enter illegally…" he paused and began to pick at the rough stumps remaining of his blunt nails, very much by way of habit "You know their government is all military?"

Molly did not know but was beginning to wonder just sort of country her son's friend was living in.

"You're sure," he began to search for confirmation "You know someone from Amestris?" He was, at that point, at least partially convinced the woman's right mind was straying.

"Not me," she shook her head, kind face thoughtful "My son does." Just then, as their conversation died due to the worker being approached by a young woman with a query, the train in question appeared in sight.

It was all hurtling speed, barrelling forwards with squeaks as it passed across the worn tracks, approaching the platform on which she stood in wait. The closer it got, the slower it became. It drew to a halt where it should have, with a loud whistle that would alert anyone who had not heard the screaming noise of its travel.

With a smile and low chuckle, Molly observed the face of a young child, a toddler, a girl with her face pressed against the window, her soft cheeks dimpled by her wide smile. Her round green eyes, certainly the most prominent of the features on her face, watched the platform with distinct interest. She was a sweet child, messy hair held up in honey blonde ponytails to either side of her head. Then a face appeared behind the girl, carved from the soft stone of youth yet hardened in ways it should not have been, aged beyond its years. It was the face of a young boy that certainly seemed, along with the body attached to which Molly could only see down to the lowest point of the shoulders, to fit the description both Albus Dumbledore and Ron had given her of the boy she was there to collect.

The boy had the golden hair, tied back in the braid Ron had informed her was predictable of his friend. He wore the coat of vibrant red and the black jacket beneath. He had the slanted eyes of flaxen she had been told about from both sources of information. However, she had been told of the aged state of those eyes that scanned the platform for but a moment they were intelligently taking in the copious amount of information and sifting through it until they stayed upon her decisively, by neither.

The doors to the train were opened as those faces disappeared from the window. After a moment they reappeared by the door, the girl hanging back, clinging to a man's leg as she waved vigorously and he smiled as he brought a hand up to his forehead. The boy she was waiting for turned around and returned the salute before taking a step and wishing the girl goodbye, moving further from the train as he continued to wave, rather heartedly. It did not take long for the train to disembark from the platform, heading away once again.

The boy continued his bee-line towards her, clearly conscious of exactly where he needed to go. "Are you Mrs Weasley?" the young voice, barely accented, asked from her side.

"I am," She nodded before doing her own check despite thinking it a rather redundant asked "Are you, Edward Elric?"

"Yes ma'am," his response was polite but she didn't miss, with the trained eye of the mother she was, the way he seemed to bite his tongue a little, as though stopping himself from saying anything else.

She spared him a sideways glance as she led him from the platform up to the escalator - it really was fascinating what Muggles could do even without magic to help them, her husband's obsession was perhaps a tad out of the range of understandability - and out of the building. She then proceeded to clamber into that dreadful car of her husband's as they met up with the man himself, returning from work, on the street just before. Then they were off, on their way back to the burrow where she was to take care of not only one, but two additional children (not that she was complaining) to those she had grown used to since the eldest of her children began to leave home for their work and own endeavours.

She noticed the way Edward sprawled himself across the backseat, one knee tucked against his chest, foot sitting on the chair. Though Arthur, despite it being his car, his pride and joy, made no comment. So Molly didn't either.

"Edward," she began and had turned towards him to try to strike up a conversation with him once he put down the strange writing implement he held and the rather battered pocket journal he was writing in "Who was that girl on the train?"

"Hmm?" He looked confused, though only momentarily "Oh! You mean Elicia Hughes. You saw the man with us?" Molly nodded, distinctly remembering the man in the blue uniform whom Ed had saluted upon departure, the one whose leg the little girl had playfully clung to. "She's his daughter. My boss," he made a face, a scowl, at the word that caught Molly's undivided attention, pushing everything else he said back in her mind as it took centre stage. "He doesn't think I can be trusted on my own," he scoffed as he mumbled something that was clearly meant to dismiss the thoughts of his boss as asinine, but Molly missed that entirely, "So he made Maes come with me and Elicia likes her dad a lot and, for some reason, she likes me too. So she begged him to let her tag along."

Ed failed to tell his friend's mother that the reason Mustang didn't trust him to travel alone was that the previous and, the only time he had done so, the train had been attacked and he had single handedly taken control of the situation, with the help of his brother of course.

But surely that was a rather ridiculous reason? It was hardly as though they had only gotten violent because of him and who knows what would have happened if he hadn't jumped to the aid of the people on that same train!

"Boss?" Mrs Weasley asked him, concern edging at her voice even if he couldn't detect it.

He shrugged nonchalantly and replied "Yeah."

"Oh," Molly had to try to convince herself, due to the calm countenance he held when speaking of the topic, that this was perhaps a normal thing where he was from, to work at such a young age. She explicitly chose not to think about why his boss would control such manners as his travel.

"What's your boss' name?" Molly asked him, attempting to build up grounds for a conversation that could perhaps extend beyond the semi-fruitlessness of her previous attempt. He mumbled again, beneath his breath but loud enough for her to realise the words were spoken in a tongue foreign to her.

"Mustang," he said after the mumble that, while she could not understand it, was indicated by the way he moved his mouth around the word that he spat it out almost as though it were poisonous "Roy Mustang." It was another attempt at conversing that quickly fell flat.

From the trunk sitting to his side, Ed drew a book, as old as many she had seen in the grand library of Hogwarts. The binding was slightly looser than it should have been, the ink she could see on the pages that were, as he tried to fasten the trunk closed with it in his hand, just slightly visible was smudged in places, clearly handwritten and evidently without the greatest of care taken when putting words onto the page, unlike she found most commercially sold books of similar agedness.

She caught a glimpse of the title but could not read it, just as she could not understand the boy's mumbles. She sighed as she saw his eyes trail the lines of text on the pages and examine the occasional diagrams with and became aware she had lost him to the contents of that book. She recalled having read in one of Ron's letters from the previous year that the boy became so entranced when reading it was a near impossible state to break him out of. With those ravenous eyes and quick-moving fingers that danced across the rapidly turning pages as he devoured the knowledge they contained, it was not hard to imagine such a thing being the case.

Instead, her attention turned to the window to her side. In a flurry of blue and green of different shades, the countryside passed by. She watched lazily as she saw the trees thin and thicken intermittently, the dainty, quaint country houses indistinct blurs of red brick and white trimming.

Ed put the book down before they reached the Burrow of the Weasley family. It had been a parting gift from Hughes and Ed was happy to read through the number of aged, coded pages, even if he was clueless as to where the man got it. He laughed a bit as he thought of Hughes receiving the book; the man had sworn that alchemy was magic and Ed, being familiar with both, could testify that was not the truth.

The rumbling engine of the car that was so much more advanced than those he was used to but had gotten somewhat used to in his time spent in the UK, shut off abruptly when they pulled up in front of the house.

Ed clambered out of the door he noticed a few stray twigs sitting on the top of the car, with some confusion but no words to express such emotions. Instead, he turned his attention to the house before him, crooked and unique in the strange way he had found typical of things within the wizarding community. He was led, by two smiling Weasleys, to the wooden door.

They stood before the door for a second as Molly fumbled for her key and Ed couldn't help but feel Arthur's eyes on him. Arthur was staring down at him with intrigue evident on his face.

Ed shuffled his feet a little bit, twiddling his gloved hands together as he turned his attention to the entrance of the house. At that moment, it swung open and Ed's field of vision was instantly consumed by a swatch of orange as he felt a weight settle over his shoulders.

"Eddo!" Two identical voices to either side of his head exclaimed directly into his ears. He felt the noise reverberating around his head as he shrugged the weight off and felt his mind settle. "Fred," he goads subtly a polite smile plastered on his face mockingly, his face slowly transforming to a much more evil one, an expression on his face that was much more fitting to himself, "George." The twins took one look at that evil grin and took a minute step away. The grin widened if that was even possible.

"Hi, Ed!" A familiar voice called from the top of the wonky staircase that came into view as he stepped through the threshold.

"Hi!" Echoes another as a second person appeared behind the first.

"Harry, Ron," He said, feeling as though he were sinking slowly into the world of the wizards as he was just beginning to move from that of familiar, militarised alchemy "It's good to see you again."

Ed tried for as long as he could to maintain the facade of politeness both Harry and Ron, from the sideways glances they sent him, seemed aware of the falseness of. As they were sitting around the dinner table, Ginny looking at him with unsure eyes that were skirting around a very aware Harry, he snapped.

It was definitely Arthur Weasley's fault and he could not be convinced otherwise. "So," the man had began, still looking at Ed despite his face being turned to his wife, curiosity still present "Molly, you never did introduce this little guy to us properly," Ron had been waving his hands about in a desperate effort to stop his father from saying the word but, the very second he realised it was too late, Ron pushed his chair as far from the table as he could manage. Much agreeing it was the best course of action, Harry followed suit.

"Who are you calling so short you can't see their head over the table?!" Ed yelled as Fred and George, aware of what was happening, began to snicker, Ginny's face took on a startled appearance and Percy's became disapproving.

Molly started for a moment before coming to terms with the fact that this was the beginning of the surfacing of the recalcitrance Dumbledore had mentioned to her. Arthur, unaware of what Ed was actually liked, jumped. In fact, he was so startled he unbalanced his chair and sent both him and it sailing backwards onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor. "I never said that," he defended meekly as gold eyes found him dangerously, turning away with an unimpressed scoff.

After that, it took a while for the flow of the day to return to normal but, eventually, it did. Or as normal as it could get when you have both the Fullmetal Alchemist and the Boy who Lived under the same roof.

 **A/N**

 **Well, this is late by my laptop has a vendetta against me, I'm sorry. BlackWolf478 deserves thanks for the beta once again, especially because she had this done on Monday and has had to live with my dodgy WiFi and incapability with technology until now. But it's here, once again a massive sorry but also a huge thanks!**

 **All the best,**

 **~We'reAllABitOdd**


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter could vouch that, while it certainly wasn't the most pleasant, a terrified scream was certainly the best of noises for an alarm.

He could, however, also say that it was an entirely unwelcome noise when it pierced his eardrums and bounced around inside his sleep-dazed head like a bouncy ball. Blearily, he pried his eyes open, jolting upwards and bracing himself on uncomfortably tensed arms as he attempted to make sense of the very blurred world around him.

"What," Ron Weasley began, throat hoarse and eyes wide. He was staring at Edward, the cause of the ruckus, "the bloody hell is that?!"

Ed just, much like Harry, blinked as he tried to clear the traces of sleep from his vision and bring himself fully into consciousness, "Huh?" He said as he yawned, adjusting the way he was sitting and making the blanket slip further down his right arm.

"You're kidding?" Ron was slightly incredulous as he flailed his arms at the offending metallic limb "You know? That hunk of metal where your arm should be?"

Suddenly, no relation to the sudden exposure of metal and ports to cool air, Ed shivered, going slightly pale in the semi-darkness of the room. "Shit," He mumbled beneath his breath repeatedly, Harry just catching the lashing words aimed at no one but Ed himself.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, voice much brighter than Ron's who was still staring at Ed as though he had grown another head, "So this is what your arm looks like?" Harry could hear his heartbeat playing a rhythm in his ribcage, in tune to the hurried footsteps that pounded up the stairs. He knew he was swallowing down what he really felt at that moment, something of a mixture between awe, shock, and a fair amount of the terror that Ron was shaking with.

Ed nodded, slowly and uneasily, as he yawned again, waving his real hand dismissively as his head hit the pillow again, hair fanning out around him. He shrugged the blankets back up to his chin.

Ron could not stop looking at him, staring at the space where his arm was beneath the blankets he had hidden behind. Mouth agape and eyes bulging, he began to process what had been said. Blinking slowly and turning even more so, his comedically wide eyes landed on Harry as the footsteps stopped and, with no absence of haste, the door was thrown open.

Light crept over the floor, a gradually widening triangle of brightness that made Harry turn to it the moment of its appearance but did nothing to draw Ron from his state of shock. Along with the light, Molly Weasley appeared, hair a dishevelled mess, sleeping cap askew atop her head and nightgown crinkled. She looked as shocked as Ron did, though she held the expression differently. His mind was working in slow motion, almost on pause, whereas hers was working in an almost incomprehensible overdrive. His eyes were dim, lightless, whereas hers shone bright with worry, flitting erratically in search for answers as to why she had been awoken by a horrified scream.

"What happened? What happened?" She asked on repeat, never stopping moving as her cheeks shone red, under eyes somewhat blue.

"Nothing, nothing," Harry attempted to soothe as Ron turned wide eyes on him and Ed, from beneath the covers he was laying under, nodded subtly.

"Okay," Molly was still jittery, but her breath flew from her lungs in a relieved sigh. "Okay," She muttered to herself, repeating the words again and again until she began to believe them.

She finally drew herself back into coherency enough to turn and stumble back down to her own room.

"I want some bloody answers!" Ron demanded not a moment later, more conscious than before as comprehension flooded him as though something had been taken off of pause.

"What about?" Ed said nonchalantly, Harry hearing the slight edge in his voice.

"Why you look like a cyborg, that's what!"

Harry and Ed blinked in unison, before speaking at the same time, though the words that left their mouth were different.

"How do you know what a cyborg is?" Harry said.

"What the hell is a cyborg?" Ed asked.

"Hermione told me about this muggle thing, she called them movers," Ron spoke quickly in response to Harry, not even acknowledging the fact that Ed had spoken at all.

"Movies," Harry clarified.

"I don't bloody care at the minute!" Ron told him, flinging lanky, pale arms out to either side of him with little concern for the surroundings.

"Ow!" Ed was rubbing his sore nose with his right hand, face nothing if not accusingly.

Harry looked at Ed, eyes pleading "Just explain!" He whined, getting fed up with the looping conversation that went nowhere but to useless questions and back again.

And so he did. Or at least tried to.

It took almost no time for Ed to talk Ron into a state of confusion that almost mimicked dazedness. The problem Ed stumbled across before taking the first step forwards was the fact that he had never had to explain automail to anyone with as little knowledge of things that actually made sense as Ron. Namely, simple science and the necessity of prosthetics because muggle limbs could not be regrown as wizards' could unless they had been cursed off.

Though that did remind Ed that he should probably, as he wouldn't have to worry about the hidden treasure beneath the school this time, research the mechanics behind the function of magic that seemed to follow few rules. He had meant to the year before, but circumstances had prevented him.

It was painstaking, but they got there eventually and Ron finally managed to settle the situation, as strips of sunlight made their way in through the cracks in the curtains and they were blinking bleary sleep-filled eyes, with the words "Guess that explains the noise," surfacing between yawns. His voice was still rather put out, confused and surprised.

"Are you really that loud?" Ed sighed.

"Enough to be noticeable." Harry winced as he adjusted his glasses and a beam of light came pouring in, shining right into his eyes.

"Great," Ed remarked, making it very clear he did not think it was such.

"Actually," Harry looked at Ron "I have a question."

"Shoot,"

"What were you doing up anyway?"

"I was only going to use the loo. I struck a match to light the lamp but the light reflected off of Ed's…" he paused "Octoveil."

"How is that even close to automail?" Ed asked, clearly exasperated.

"You never went to the loo, did you?" Harry asked, despite the answer being beyond obvious.

Ron thought unnecessarily for a moment. "You know," he finally began, "I don't think I did?"

"That was hours ago, what happened?" Harry asked again as Ed continued to mumble under his breath about the ridiculousness of Ron's incapability to take in new words, especially muggle ones.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I was a bit distracted, you know!" Ron replied.

"Hours!" Harry insisted.

The plan for the day was to head to Diagon Alley for school supplies. However, neither Harry nor Ed had ever experienced the proffered method of travel suggested by the Weasels and wasn't sure how it worked, But there was something they did know for absolute certain, neither of them was too keen to participate in this way of travel.

In theory, it was simple; you throw the powder down at your feet and say the name of your destination. In practice, it was very different.

They had watched comfortable, familiarised Weasleys go shooting up the fireplace as though it were nothing. But, as he stood in the fireplace, there smelling strongly of burning and the fine powder in his hand slipping between the gaps left in his clasped hand, Ed felt his nerves falter slightly.

He almost laughed at the utter asininity of that sense of fear that made itself at home in the pit of his stomach. He had nearly died, nearly been killed, more times than he planned to recall and he would tell you truthfully, with wild eyes that shone with honest mirth, that he often enjoyed those misadventures that drove Mustang crazy.

Maybe, even after swearing, he did the year before despite harbouring almost endless curiosities about how it worked, Ed didn't quite trust magic yet.

He would have pondered on it for longer, but he was beginning to feel the emptiness in his clenched fist that had once been occupied by now-wasted powder. He took a large breath, feeling the air fill his lungs along with the traces of smoke, before throwing it down hard at his feet. He then spoke as clearly as he could as more smoke, emerging in new tendrils from the space between his shoulder-width-spaced boots, made its way down his throat.

"Diagon Alley!"

His surroundings darkened before long, but the last thing he saw as he closed his mouth and, soon after, his eyes, was a sort of green flash and dark, soot-stained brick-pattern.

Harry's eyes trailed what he assumed to be Ed's movement long after the boy had disappeared, eyes unalert and heavy. Then he was guided, after remaining inattentive, by a hand at the small of his back, into the place his friend had stood before disappearing.

His legs shook a bit, knobbly knees wobbling and hands quaking. Harry was sending miniature specks of shimmery grey powder in every which way, but he did what he had seen Ed do and breathed in deeply, steeling himself.

But his voice was thick and jumbled with his longing for the sleep Ed and Ron had, without explicitly stating anything, prevented him from getting. The words he spoke were less like the clear and concise 'Diagon Alley' everyone else had spoken as though addressing someone who was perhaps a little hard of hearing, and more like an indistinct mumble.

Harry gulped as he felt his feet hanging and his body soaring through unpleasant, unfamiliar darkness, shrouded in soot that snuck its way into every slightest fold of his skin.

He went crashing down a moment later, in a cloud of soot paired with an inelegant landing, in a place entirely unfamiliar to him. He coughed up little clouds of a black dust as he took in his surroundings.

They made a shiver race up his spine, boney hands twisting the hem of his shirt between fingers until he had practically woven a knot into the old, stretched-out cotton. Funnily enough, that was exactly what his eyes landed on: a bony hand.

It was the colour of aged parchment, sitting a few feet away from him in a little case on top of a raised surface covered with other miscellaneous crap he wished not to know about in any more detail. It wasn't until he caught sight of the little silver bell, as dusty as the entire interior of the building that appeared to be carpeted in the stuff, that he realised the place was a shop.

Then there were footsteps, coming in faintly from the dingy, dark outside in the direction he could not see, and he knew the shop had a customer.

He was lost, but it didn't take a genius to figure out he was somewhere he shouldn't be and should probably hide before he got into trouble. He spotted a dark, imposing armoire behind him and, as the barest traces of the figure of the customer appeared at the edges of his vision, clambered inside without a second thought.

He pressed his back firmly against the wall of the armoire and held his breath stubbornly, scared to make any sort of noise.

The bell chimed and two figures walked in.

Harry's breath betrayed him, rushing out of his lungs in the form of a hurriedly stifled gasp when he saw who one of the patrons to the obviously dark store was.

It was Draco Malfoy.

 **A/N**

 **I'm sorry for the wait between chapters, I was on Holiday a few weeks back and then we restarted school and the teachers were not hesitant at all to drown us in homework. But I'm back now!**

 **This chapter was beta-d by BlackWolf478 who deserves a massive thanks for her work on it.**

 **All the best,**

 **We'reAllABitOdd**


	4. Chapter 4

Harry held his breath as he heard footsteps near the armoire in which he was so anxiously hiding. Each tapping of a foot upon the dust-covered floor outside was another beat skipped by his heart. He waited and waited, nervous and dreading what was to come until…

"Draco!" Lucius Malfoy called his son away and, without knowing it, saved Harry from being discovered.

The footsteps retreated, what had once increased in volume slowly fading away until a bell chimed, a door heavily fell closed and there was merely silence. A few minutes later, Harry steeled himself, pushed open the wooden door and stepped down into the dimly lit shop, suddenly devoid of all life.

As quickly and quietly as he could manage, he wove his way around displays of grisly items and out of the door. He heard it close and the bell ring, both too loud when he was trying so hard to be quiet. But he had done it, he had escaped the shop without being caught. He was now standing outside in an area that most definitely was not Diagon Alley, staring up at the crooked lettering that labelled the shop he had just left as Borgin and Burkes. He didn't even have time to sigh in relief when a bony hand landed on his back.

"Lost, boy?" He stared up into the face of a witch whose appearance was only vaguely human, sunken cheeks as white as alabaster, discolouration beneath black eyes like bruising. Her teeth were sharp, exposed by peeled back lips, as white as the rest of her thin, sharp visage. Drowning in a sea of slightly torn black fabric, she stared back.

Without thinking, Harry darted forwards and to the side, diving into a crowd and away from the witch. The people suddenly surrounding him were just as strange and suspicious as she was. There was one witch a few metres to his left with a tray held out in front of her as though she were selling something. At a first glance they looked to be fingernails, Harry felt a shiver trace the length of his spine, but then he noticed they were moving, dancing if it were. He ducked down and moved a little further away from her. Then there was a wizard directly in front of him, blocking his way with bug eyes that looked almost ready to fall from the ruddy face that held them. He didn't blink even once. Harry dived to his right. The second he saw her a witch began to cackle maniacally. Slowly approaching. He was trapped in a crowd of bustling weirdos that left no room for him to escape and she held out a bony hand that grew ever closer as her split-lipped smile grew wider and wider. All too aware of the raucous chorus of his unsettled heart, he held his breath and hoped. He didn't know what for exactly, but he hoped.

It worked. By his side there appeared a large figure, a familiar one, who, as ever, hadn't the slightest trouble in making his way through the throng of people harry couldn't find a single gap in.

"Harry!" His booming voice echoed around the narrow streets. The more timid weirdos shyed away. "What're ya doing down here?"

Harry couldn't respond. Only mumbled something that sounded vaguely like the name of the man as he clasped his sleeve in a shaking hand.

He was lead out of the alley. Stopping when they were safely in Diagon Alley, in front of the apothecary Harry didn't like but wasn't unfamiliar with, for hagrid to dust off the copious amount of soot that had settled on Harry's clothes. He was almost knocked into a barrel of steaming dragon dung as the man hit his back with one last pat that sent a cloud of black dust up into the air. Harry coughed a little and moved himself away from the dragon dung.

"Harry!" a familiar voice called. It was soft and feminine and soon followed by two more voices. He ran over to greet his friends.

"Hermione!" His worry was suddenly replaced with a wide, earsplitting smile. He met her in a hug.

"It feels like forever since I last spoke to you," He said, stepping back.

"Did you not get my letters?" She cocked an eyebrow. He shook his head, stepping back, her beside him, amongst the Weasleys and single Elric that stood behind them.

"I'll explain later." He said, waving a hand "We can talk over ice cream." Both he and Hermione laughed a little at the excited noise Ron made as Ed groaned at the idea.

"Right." Molly began "First step - Gringotts!"

As a unit, the made their way over to the crooked structure of the wizarding bank. Fred and george dropped back a little, coming up beside Harry.

"I heard you went to Knockturn Alley." One said, Harry wasn't sure which.

"Lucky!" Said the other. Harry was inclined to disagree, he wasn't so sure if he would consider an experience such as that a product of luck "We've been trying to go forever - Mum won't let us!" Harry smiled in spite of himself as the twins moved back forwards, they were hyperactive and excitable and really rather amusing.

When they walked into gringotts hermione made a beeline to the exchange desk where two people. Presumably her parents, stood looking considerably overwhelmed as they handed muggle pounds and pence across to the goblin who was aiding them. Meanwhile, Harry, Ed and the Weasleys made their way down to their vaults.

The Weasleys vault, the most shallow of the three, was the first stop. WIth a sudden jolt not too long after they had set off, the fast-moving cart came to a halt, accompanied by a slightly disconcerting clicking sound. Harry chose to ignore it aside from briefly wondering whether it had come from the tracks, the cart or the sudden jolting of mechanical limbs.

Molly stepped out, the vault being opened for her. Harry caught a glimpse of his contents, finding it to be rather sparse and suddenly feeling a deep seated feeling of guilt in his chest when he thought back to the mountainous riches that laid in his own vault, none of which he had worked for.

His was next. He stepped out and rushed, as quickly as he could, to scoop money, he didn't care how much, he just wanted it to be over with quickly, into his money bag, hoping the weasleys wouldn't see the riches of his family.

After a chaotic spiral downwards, a dizzying descent, they reached Ed's. He stepped into the vault and did much like harry did, quickly, though a little less haphazardly. Scooping money into the bag.

They later stepped off of the cart, harry's legs unstable and Ron's face, amongst others, Very much green. Harry, Ron, hermione and Ed left the bank soon after, breaking off into a group of their own and wandering the semi-familiar streets of the alley as they bought what they needed. Meanwhile, Molly took Ginny around to the second hand shops harry had never once even had to contemplate needing, to buy her school stuff. Fred and george ran off to who knows where while percy met up with friends of his own, all seemingly as composed as himself from what little of them harry had managed to catch a glimpse of.

"Right!" Ron suddenly said after a while as they wandered the cobbled streets "'Mione!" hermione turned to face him, hands on hips and head cocked to the side. "D'ya know Ed here-" he was cut off by a frantic waving of limbs courtesy of Ed and harry who were doing all that was in their power to get him to shut up. He didn't quite get the memo- moreso, he just looked confused. "Has two mechanical limbs!?" he finished with a flourish as hermione turned on her heel to meet the eyes of a scowling Ed who was diligently having a staring competition with the pavement.

She looked angry, annoyed, but not surprised as harry would have expected. There was a trace of disappointment in stern eyes that never left Ed's face.

"Of course." She spoke slowly after a moment. "Of course Edward!" ALl of a sudden she sped up, walking up to him, face ablaze. He shuffled his feet back and looked up at her, challenge on his own features. "You're an idiot!"

"So you've told me." he nodded "believe me, I know."

"I told you that job of yours was bad news!"

"I lost them before that Hermione."

"How? How does a ten-year-old lose two limbs?"

"Unimportant."

"You think so."

"Yup."

"You. Edward Elric, are a complete and utter morons."

"I know. You keep telling me so."

"You'll get yourself killed at this rate."

"Maybe." he nodded "But I've been fine thus far."

"You're down two limbs! You call that fine?"

"Sure."

"You're impossible! Insufferable! You're, you-" And her resolve broke. The angry red fell from her face. Now only white, pale and fearful. A tear fought its way from her eye. "You need to be more careful." She was suddenly quiet, her voice barely carrying as her words were little more than a whisper.

Under most circumstances, Harry would have found it funny to see Edward Elric looking so beyond bewildered but this was not one of those situations. It was evident Ed didn't know how to crying girls, displays of emotion. It was evident he didn't know what to do when Hermione flung her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his shoulder, leaving a darker patch of red there than what there had been a moment before.

Unsurely, he put his hands on her back and looked over his shoulder for help. Hermione shivered at his touch, she could feel it, the metal hand that was not nearly as human as the other.

They arrived at the designated meeting point a while later. Flourish and Blotts was both Hermione's and Ed's favourite shop in the alley and Harry and Ron both had to try their best to keep the two on a close leash. Lest they wish for them to run off into the depths of the shops where they would be lost for hours on end amongst all the books Ron was sure he could feel them gravitating towards.

Molly Weasley walked up to them, smile on her face. She noticed the faded tear tracks on hermione's face but didn't question them. The motherly woman urged them to come forwards as they promised they would a moment later.

"Well well," A familiar voice called from above as a person made their way down the short staircase that led to the shop's upper level "If it isn't Potty, the Weasel, the Mudblood and the Traitor!" hermione's lower lip quivered slightly as she balled her hands into fists.

"Shut up Malfoy." She told him.

He made to speak again but his father approached, placing a hand on Draco's back.

"Come now, Draco." Lucius said as his eyes trailed the group. Draco skulked away, knocking into Ginny who was standing a mere foot away. His eyes landed on her as she saddled her way up closer to her brother.

"Red hair," he began in the same sort of nasally tone as the one with which Draco spoke "vacant expression." he looked towards Ron who suddenly straightened his posture and schooled his face "tatty, hand-me-down book," The last syllable he spoke was overly sharp, spat from a mouth that spoke only words of disdain to them, to children. He picked up a book from the cauldron full of them dangling from Ginny's hand. He held it loosely, only by the cover with two fingers dangling it. He dropped it back again without any care for it. "You must be the Weasleys!" An awful smile spread across his face and, before he could register it, a pressure made contact with his stomach, making him double over and gasp for breath.

He looked blearily upwards into a smiling face, vaguely familiar yet unplaceable, that looked more feral and vicious than happy, with sharp canines exposed and golden eyes unmistakably malicious. "Leave my friends alone bastard." A voice hissed from behind those bared teeth as another hit made contact with Lucius' knees, sending his sprawling forwards as the children moved, making way for him to fall with no dignity and have to regain his breath before he could even hope of finding his feet again.

He swore he would remember that face, try to find out why it was familiar. He swore he would give those children hell!


	5. chapter 5

The very moment that bumbling, narcissistic idiot took his place before the crowd, unconvincing smile plastered across his face, Ed was already fed up.

The very moment that bumbling, narcissistic idiot took his place before the crowd, unconvincing smile plastered across his face, Hermione was already smitten.

Ed watched him with disdain as he pranced about the stage and spoke with all the self importance of a Malfoy yet none of the prejudice. He rattled off one clear lie after another but managed to have much of the audience wrapped around his little finger.

Ed had grimaced first at his face and then again when he introduced himself by name, remembering very distinctly the books he had read written by the man. The man's name has been printed in obnoxious font on the cover of three books he had read, he owned a fair few more but have up on the author before the completion of the series. It was as clear in written word as it was spoken: every word the man spewed was exaggerated to the point at which it became painful.

Ron and Harry weren't too impressed either. Not that that stopped Harry from being called up in stage beside Gilderoy Lockhart and being gifted books he had more than enough money to buy.

He was somewhat dazed as a light flashed and a shutter clicked and he found himself being photographed, suddenly very aware of the remnants of soot he could not get off.

He stalked off the stage and gave the books to Ginny, grumbling to himself and watching a small smirk grow across Ed's face as he saw he was not the only one who found the man to be insufferable.

Grumbling, Harry took his place to his friend's side and watched with disinterest as the man continued to wind the room around his little finger.

Later that day, back at the Weasley abode, they were eating a hearty dinner lovingly prepared by Mrs. Wesley in a room that was anything but silent. Still, Ginny spoke very few words - her eyes would latch on Harry until his caught them before suddenly flitting away as the drew her lips in a tighter line.

Harry was getting somewhat exasperated by her unwillingness to speak and looked at Ron with something akin to desperation.

Ron just laughed and said something to him that made Giant's pinched lips turn down into a scowl as Harry made some semblance of a laugh, Ed grinning as he looked between them. He only smiled wider when Ginny glared at him in a way that could not come close to the glares of the military men he always seemed to elicit such an expression from.

He cackled to himself shortly and watched as Ron and Harry turned their heads to look at him.

"What?" they asked.

"oh nothing, nothing." he waved his metal hand dismissively and only found himself more amused when their faces contorted with traces of frustration.

"you're evil." Ron narrowed his eyes.

Ed smiled, as feral as ever, canines exposed "you don't know the half of it."

"Well he is a Slytherin, Ronnikins." Fred and George spoke in unison, giggling with glee.

"ugh," Ed rolled his eyes and put his fork down on his plate "don't remind me." he gulped down the last of his pumpkin juice and stood "Well thanks for the dinner Mrs. Weasley."

"It's no trouble dear. But may I ask where you're going?"

"reading." he answered shortly before disappearing around a corner. Faintly, Ron could hear footsteps pounding on the stairs, one louder than the other.

"How many books did he buy today?" Ron asked Harry, replacing his cup on the table with no delicacy.

"I don't know - remember, I was with you; we let him and Hermione run rampant in Flourish and Blotts on their own."

When Harry and Ron returned to Ron's room they couldn't see Ed, what they could see was a sort if fortification built up from books and novels and times that piled high, somehow seemingly stable.

"Ed?" Harry walked over, peering into the top of the structure and seeing Ed sitting in the middle, legs crossed and face hurried into a book.

"What do we do?" Ron asked, looking at his friend with his head cocked to the side.

"Wait?"

"I guess."

The next morning Ed was essentially dead on his feet - he had gotten very little sleep the night before, having done his best to research the actual mechanics of magic. However, he had stumbled across a rather major issue fairly quickly.

Wizards were idiots.

He didn't know where the problem came from, whether it was that Wizards just didn't have the common sense to try to find out where their power came from or that they had tried to find answers but stumbled upon none.

He hadn't found a single theory, let alone proven fact, in any if the books he had dived into with such high hopes.

He groaned as he turned onto his side, shielding his eyes from the single concentrated beam of light that came pouring in through a crack in the curtains with his left arm. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, figuring if there was anything to be found that eccentric, old wizard could help him.

He dressed quickly and stopped to shovel the books back into his trunk, doing his best to fit them all in in such a way that it could still be closed. Thankfully, he managed.

He picked up the heavy trunk in one hand as he pushed back the hair he had not had time to braid with the other. Cursing himself for waking up late, he rushed down the stairs.

He jumped over the two figures laying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, a tangle of limbs and trunks that had popped open, scattering books, both worn and old and pristine and new, and robes and miscellaneous trinkets across the floor.

He stopped and turned on his heel, looking down at Harry and Ginny. "What happened here?" he reached down and pulled Ginny to her feet as Harry scrambled to his own.

"Ron's fault." Harry said quickly, collecting his things "And this stupid trunk of course." he glared at the open trunk as he threw his things into it, kicking it after he clicked closed the clasp. It wobbled precariously but did not fall.

Ginny's face was an impressive shade of od scarlet, the colour slowly spreading down her neck. She shuffled away from them quickly, muttering indistinctly to herself as she went, eyes fixed firmly to the well-worn floor.

Ed giggled as she left and, the second she was out of earshot, burst into a fit of cackles that sounded very much stereotypically evil. Harry sent him a withering glance. "shut up," He pleaded. Ed only laughed louder as Harry buried his head into his hands.

Kings Cross was always the same: busy, hot, smelling vaguely of sweat and an unpleasant conglomerate of all kinds of perfumes and foods and absolutely packed with muggles.

It didn't take much for Ed to notice the number of eyes that found and latched onto their owls and cause them to retreat with a sharp glare that made all heads turn very deliberately in the other direction.

He smiled with a hint of satisfaction as they came up to the pillar separating platforms 9 and 10. One by one, their wizarding party all began to file through the trick-barricade. Soon, it was only Ron, Harry and Ed left standing on the muggle side of the platform.

Ed looked at his friends over his shoulder, hair, still loose, obscuring his view, as he made towards the pillar. He departed with a sort of mock salute before squaring up to the wall and passing through as though it were made of water.

Harry and Ron talked for a moment more on the muggle side of the platform before charging for the pillar in tandem.

However, they did not pass through it nicely and cleanly.

They ran straight at that barrier and suddenly stopped before being flung backwards, carts crashing to the ground in a flurry of squawks from both the startled boys and Harry's disgruntled owl. All of their belongings and the impact itself made quite the noise, causing all muggle eyes to immediately fix themselves upon them.

An angry platform attendant came storming over and Harry flinched back into himself as Ron dumbly stared at the ground, both quickly trying to recollect their fallen possessions.

"What'd ya think your playin' at?" he demanded, face ablaze and pale eyes narrowed.

"s-sorry," Harry stuttered, looking anywhere he could that wasn't the mans scarlet face "lost control of the trolley," his voice trailed off as he spoke, well aware it was something of a ridiculous answer.

"Well don't do it again!" the attendant commanded before storming off back into the crowd.

Brown eyes met green as Harry and Ron looked at each other in a mixture of confusion, relief and desperation. Futilely, they stepped back up to the barrier that had refused them passage a moment before and pressed their hands up against the rough brick. They did not pass through.

Desperately, they tried to search for a solution, some way onto the platform, as they watched the clock in the station tick steadily. Each second that passed hrough those hands fractionally closer to reading 11 o'clock.

Soon, what had been five remaining minutes melted down into two, one, half of one, absolutely none at all. Exasperated and slightly sore, Harry flung himself at the pillar in frustration, back slowly slipping down the brick as he settled himself on the dirty ground, head in hands.

He could almost hear the whistle of the departing train.

Ron soon found a place besides his best friend, warm eyes cast into shadows as he dug slender fingers into fiery hair. They sat there. A moment passed. Quite a long one as far as moments go.

Then Ron's eyes lit up and, even though he made no noise, Harry instinctively turned to face him.

And old woman with hair somewhere between brown and grey dressed in black as though in mourning passed them by, beady eyes turned down at them in disgust and disdain as her pristine heels clicked a regular rhythm on the cold floor.

Ron paid her no mind as his freckled cheeks dimpled and his thin lips spread into a wide smile.

"I have an idea!" He exclaimed and Harry was so caught up with the possibility he would, in fact, make it to Hogwarts that he forgot to question the specificities of said idea.

He regretted that forgetfulness as soon as he found himself looking fretfully down on the shrinking streets of London that networked beneath them and their barely controlled flying vehicle.

Meanwhile, on the train cutting its way through the country as it travelled towards Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, Ed, Hermione and a vaguely uncomfortable-looking Neville sat in a compartment that felt all too empty.

"What happened to them?" Ed asked as the train left the platform, caught somewhere between co rising and concern "I saw them literally five minutes ago,"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, adjusting herself in her seat so she was looking in the direction of that platform. She continued to stare in that direction long after the platform disappeared. "I do hope they're okay…" she strange her hands together as she bit her lip and, at last, turned back to Ed and Neville.

"They could be in another compartment?" Neville attempted to rationalise with a complete absence of certainty in his voice.

"No," Ed responded surely. His golden eyes met Neville's brown ones for a brief moment before he focused them back on the floor "I was watching the entrance the whole time. They never got onto the platform,"

"Then where could they be?" Hermione asked, the epitome of a worried friend.

"Not a clue," Ed leant back in his seat, sliding.down slightly "hopefully they'll be at school,"

"How?" Neville asked timidly, gently running a finger over the back of Trevor, his toad.

"Certainly not legally, but those two will come up with something,"

Neville quickly decided he did not like the look of the grin that spread across Ed's face at that moment. The way his eyes seemed to glint beneath the light yet be plunged into darkness by the shadow made by his hair at the same time, the way his lips peeled back ever so slightly to reveal sharp canines, the way Hermione looked at him with distrust - all of it made Neville want to get away from him as fast as possible.

But there was nowhere to go.

Neville gulped.

 **A/N this is probaboy full of typos because it was written on my phone (my laptop is broken) and its been so long I feep bad about bothering my beta, but, hey, I'm back!**


	6. Chapter 6

The train came to a screeching halt at Hogsmeade station; there had still been no sign of Ron and Harry. With Ginny alongside them, Ed, Hermione, and Neville climbed out of the train into the disorganised bustle of students.

It took a minute, but they were able to force their way through and escape the crowd. They walked over to Hagrid's familiar figure as he called for the first years to gather, dropping Ginny off amongst her prospective classmates and standing to Hagrid's side for a moment.

"Neville, Ed, Hermione!" the great man bellowed as he pulled them into a sudden, bone-crushing hug. Ed winced, knowing that Hermione, whose side Hagrid had unknowingly thrown against Ed's own, could certainly feel the mechanical roughness and set shape of his right arm. He didn't miss the bitter glance Hermione sent him, somewhere between disapproval, disdain and pity - he hated that look. He just hoped that Hagrid couldn't feel that same arn through his thick jacket.

"Nice to see you all again," Hagrid released them and they fell back gasping. Black beetle eyes twinkled with mirth as an unseen smile appeared beneath an impressive beard and mustache. "I take it you got home and back okay, Ed?"

Ed nodded his response with little conviction, supposing it was easier to let Hagrid believe what he wished rather than informing that there had, in fact, been a dangerous attack on his train home.

Hermione shot him another of her scalding looks. She realised she had been doing that alot since she met Ed. She blamed him completely. If he weren't such a nightmare of a person she would have no need to make that expression.

He looked at her before bidding Hagrid goodbye and leading the three of them to the steady river of students, all 2nd year and above, that travelled towards the carriages.

Ed had heard from a few older students that the carriages pulled themselves. He wanted to say it was impossible but he knew by then that magic didn't abide to common logic.

However, when they got there, Ed saw something that he wished he hadn't. He wished the carriages were pulled by nothing. A knot tied itself into his stomach and he felt a sharp pain in the limbs that weren't there, like they were being shredded and torn away again (though it was admittedly much less unbearable than it had been the first time around), he could see it again, too much of the memories he had tried to suppress.

It was a horse, kind of, but it wasn't. There was something very wrong about it - there was something about its warped, skeletal frame, covered in loosely draped skin the colour of singed flesh, that made it look eerily alike to that warped figure they had brought to life when everything had become so much worse than they could ever have imagined.

Hermione watched Ed with concern as he stood and stared at the space in front of the carriage. He shivered. Neville didn't notice as he attempted to push towards them again after getting trapped amongst inconsiderate people.

Hermione didn't look at him disapprovingly this time, she didn't roll her eyes or feel any sort of exasperation. She looked into his eyes and saw that they had been extinguished, the fire that burned in them usually had had water thrown at it - she felt pity that she didn't understand. She knew Ed would certainly hate her for it.

She stepped up to him and guided him by the arm, forcing herself to pretend the prosthetic beneath the robe was flesh and blood, to the carriage.

They climbed in and Ed kept his eyes fixed before them for a while before a sudden shiver raced over his spine and he was finally wrenched from his mind.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed. Neville displayed the same concern.

Hermione was right to assume Ed would be pissed. Or, at least, he attempted to make it seem that way. But she could see. He was shaken.

"What is it?"

"Those things pulling the carriages…" his eyes burst back aflame as he focused them on the same empty space again, small frame alight with tense energy. Hermione cast her eyes to the same spot as Ed.

"But they're pulling themselves Ed," she spoke quietly and unsurely but that didn't stop Ed from whipping between her and his spot with break neck speed.

He was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke in a subdued tone that Hermione refused to believe could be his "Oh. I suppose they are."

She wanted to protest against that but she took a moment too long deciding what to say and the carriage drew to a gentle halt and Ed flung himself over the side. He landed weightlessly on the familiar school ground and sped away into the thicket of the crowd.

Hermione watched after him and barely stifled a call. Sighing, she shifted herself before gently dropping herself to the pavement under foot. Neville dropped without grace by her side and promptly fell onto his ass. He stumbled back onto his feet and dusted off his trousers, giggling with unsurety as he attempted to rectify the wonky fastening of his robe to no avail.

They walked after Ed and the rest of the school.

Harry had grown bored long ago and had, initially, became elated as he watched his wonderful home emerge upon the horizon. Then they had fallen from the darkening sky with little control and Harry had screamed and Ron had yelled. The entire magically extended interior of what should've been a little car filled quickly with unadulterated terror.

Then they crashed down and Harry could breathe again and Ron's heart stopped skipping every beat it was meant to make.

But the car moved again, tipped as though it were about to take a nose dive to the ground that they still had yet to hit. It moved inch by inch until it was truy mere centimetres from tipping before it was saved by a flailing tree limb. The branch that saved them was long and dark and wide and covered in worn areas and knots of wood. It held them for a minute until another similar limb came flailing upwards and hitting them hard. The impact was definitely intentional.

And they began to scream once again.

More limbs flailed violently at them, flinging them around and denting their vehicle. Desperately, Ron drew his second-hand wand and whacked it against the dashboard. He choked out pained noises that could possibly have been intended as spells. Each hit got harder and harder until the aged wood snapped and Ron's only response was a pained, whining sob.

Harry tried to silence him so their focus could be isolated to their survival. They tried everything they could to get the quickly breaking car out of the violent tree. All hope seemed loss.

But the car sputtered to life of its own accord as the strongest hit yet made to attack them. The car barely dodged it as it managed to take them "safely" to the ground. They were flung from their seats, both barely managing to catch their disgruntled animals as they suffered the same fate. Their luggage fell to the floor and their trunks popped open.

It was dark out and both boys sincerely hoped they had not missed some of their belongings in the shadows. They tried with a great amount of difficulty to gather their bags and travelled to the school building at a snail's pace. One moment Ron had to stop to readjust his grip. The next Harry had to do the same.

They fell into the school building with twigs tangled in their hair and chlorophyll and mud on their pale faces - like camouflage. Ron sighed and slumped against his trunk, breathing long, drawn out gasps of relief. Harry grinned and made to join him before he heard sharp taps on the floor that caused him to straighten quickly.

"Well well," the voice was as smooth and well rehearsed as ever (though it was not as though he could have planned for that rather odd situation) "What do we have here?" he didn't wait for an answer "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, this is grounds for punishment…"

He paused for effect but, during that time, another voice interjected.

"Professor Snape," McGonagall's slender frame came into view and Harry felt some, not all, of the tension inside him unravel "these boys are in my house so I shall deal with them how I see fit,"

Snape relinquished control with little willingness "If you were in Slytherin I'd see to it you were both expelled,"

"Well then, I suppose it is lucky they are not,"

Ed wasn't the first up that morning and Harry found it indescribably odd to find his place at the Gryffindor table (it was both not his table and his table at the same time) empty. He sat down heavily in an already fairly occupied hall and waited and waited for his friends.

Hermione wasn't there yet either. She was always there before him. He waited another five minutes before Hermione and Ed came down together.

Ed had red eyes with dark shadows underneath them. It looked as though he hadn't had a wink of sleep. Hermione was little better; the curly hair she usually made some attempt to tame stuck up as it pleased and she had red lines on her skin showing where things had dug into her skin while she was asleep.

"Harry!" she exclaimed and he didn't have time to object or even stand before she had engulfed him in a hug that would rival Hagrid's "We were so worried!" she smelt like sleep too.

"I knew you'd get here," Ed smiled as he buttered himself a roll and gulped down pumpkin juice as though in contest with someone "How'd ya do it?" he grinned slyly from behind his goblet before replacing it heavily on the table.

"Well… ummm…"

"Nevermind that!" Hermione interjected. Ed looked at in what could only be described as utter betrayal. "What I want to know," she began, nursing her tea (lots of milk, one sugar) as Ed poured himself a black coffee "is what on Earth happened!"

"That's kinda what I asked…"

"Shut it Elric!"

"Ooh! Sorry!" Ed radiated so much sarcasm that Harry could almost taste it. The blonde boy held up his hands in mock-surrender. That, combined with the expression he wore, was too much for Harry. He broke down laughing.

Hermione looked at him for a moment before Ed let out a little choked sound beside her before descending into a fit of cackles as well. Hermione smiled with tight lips as she tried to stop herself from laughing along. Then she gave in and everyone around them turned to look at them with a conglomerate of amusement and confusion.

Ron came down to breakfast a few minutes later and found his friends gasping for breath and dissolving into little fits of giggles.

"What the bloody hell is happening here?"

And, for whatever reason, that only made things worse. Ed, who had just been managing to regain a firm grasp on reality, lost it again and almost choked on his coffee. That was just fuel to the flame and, with few alternate options, Ron eventually decided he may as well just join in.

They would later swear it was all just sleep deprivation.

Then it was ruined, suddenly and abruptly. The owls came swooping overhead as they always did. Right in the cereal Ron was about to dig into, a letter fell. In a bright red envelope. He gulped.

The table began to chorus "Weasley's got a howler! Weasley's got a howler!" Neville turned to Ron.

"You should open it," he insisted "I got one from Nan last year but I ignored it. It was awful," he shivered and that was enough to convince Ron to tentatively rip the paper.

He regretted it the second he did.

The envelope transformed into a mouth and the angered voice of Mrs. Weasley (Ed could just imagine her smoking from the ears as she made the letter) came out, loud and easily heard by the entire hall.

Ron was about as red as his howler.

 **A/N** **I know, I know. I'm the worst. But I'm back from the dead and I won't bore you with all the reasons I didn't upload (the short list would be my life has been shit and I've had year exams and lots of homework). Also, I am the worst at doing things without a deadline. So, if I haven't updated by this time next month, feel free to start yelling at me in PMs and reviews.** **All the best,** **~We'reAllABitOdd**


	7. Chapter 7

The school had just about gotten back into the swing of things - the limits their timetables put on their free time and lay-ins, the permanent presence of their friends and rivals, the energetic hum of the school that didn't sleep, the frankly eccentric personalities of many of their teachers - when another integral part of a Hogwarts life began once again. Quidditch.

Harry adored the sport and he couldn't wait to get back to it. Impatiently, he made his way down to the pitch, pushing back all unpleasant thoughts of the uncomfortable conversation Lockhart had forced him into holding, catching him between lessons and talking and talking. It was as though talking was to him as a beating heart was to most everyone else. Harry knew he had been right to decide instantaneously that he didn't like the man. Gilderoy Lockhart had a sort of insatiable hunger for attention that, for whatever reason, he had managed to convince himself was present in every human. Harry would try his best to never engage in a one-on-one conversation with him again.

He reached the quidditch field, the wet grass bright and soft underfoot, his shoes sinking into the mud underneath he knew he would be too lazy to wash off, and found most of his team already waiting. They stood there, engaged in friendly conversation under the washed out watercolour sky that was slowly shifting to slate as dark clouds, each carrying a promise of rain, invaded it.

In only a few more moments, the entire team was very much present and Harry, clasping a hand so cold he could barely feel it around his nimbus 2000, listened intently to the familiar voice of Oliver Wood as the captain began to brief them on their plan for practice. Then there was what one might be inclined to call an interruption.

With all the noise they could make, the Slytherin team appeared across from them, boasting the newest, state of the art brooms along with 2 new 2nd year members. One of whom looked significantly more happy to be there than the other.

"Hello Ed,"

"Hi," he responded curtly and bluntly before proceeding to mumble a long series of curses in every foreign language he could manage as he decidedly held his Malfoy-funded broom with his right arm, as far from his body as he could. He hovered uncomfortably at the back of the group and looked at his teammates with contempt. He certainly wasn't there by choice.

Harry turned his eyes to the other 2nd year and glared. Malfoy glared right back.

"What are you doing here?" Wood didn't beat around the bush "Gryffindor has the pitch booked for practice today,"

"It just so happens," Marcus Flint, the smarmy captain of the Slytherin team who epitomised the stereotypical image of the house, began as he fumbled in his robe for a neatly folded piece of parchment that he handed smugly to Wood "that we have been given special permission by Professor Snape to use the pitch due to a need to train our two new members," he shoved Malfoy and Ed to the front of their team. It forced Harry and Draco to break their staring contest and gave the former a moment to look at his friend's reaction to the situation.

There was murder encapsulated in Ed's eyes.

By this point Harry was unsurprised if a little off put - he knew Ed, even if Harry knew he had some pretty damn major secrets, so he knew to expect that look. On the other side of the same coin, knowing Ed meant he knew how dangerous he was. Harry shivered.

In the end, Gryffindor was left with little choice but to forfeit the pitch so, begrudgingly, the team trotted up to the bleachers. They watched Slytherin practice, deciding that, even if they couldn't play, they could watch how the enemy did.

Just as the overcast skies promised, it was raining before long, a miserable drizzle that made the already darkening surroundings duller and somewhat melancholy; neither team made any move to flee the rain.

Harry was watching Ed almost exclusively and, quite honestly, had not noticed the rain until he found his vision obscured by the water droplets that had landed on his glasses. He was somewhat captivated by watching his friend fly.

Ed was good at it: he was undoubtedly the most athletic person at Hogwarts and he understood the physics associated with flight that no one else did.

There was a peculiar quirk to Ed's flight and Harry had noticed it straight away in their flight lessons in their 1st year.

He flew while leaning to the right rather than sitting upright like everyone else. Harry had attempted to mimic him once towards the beginning of their friendship and had found himself careening to the side as he damn near fell to the ground that was, by that point, fairly far below the class. He had made attempts to understand it for a long time and had gotten nowhere. He eventually decided to ask Ed but never got round to it due to the rather pressing distractions that surfaced around that time.

He found himself understanding it then, as he watched from a distance far enough to almost completely hide the look of dissatisfaction, annoyance and what may have been bloodlust painted across the young boy's strong features.

Harry was almost certain it was the weight of those unusual, very helpful but also very cumbersome prosthetics of Ed's. He had one on either side of his body, sure, but the one on his left side, his leg, was much larger than that on his right. It seemed about right that he would have to compensate for the discrepancy in mass across both sides of his body.

And he definitely compensated. Ed was fast, on foot and in the air, and with that beater's bat of his… well Harry would quite honestly declare he wasn't stoked to compete against Slytherin this year.

Before too long, the Slytherin team landed on the grass, now thoroughly soaked through. The rest of the team joined into a cluster for discussion following practice, but Ed was Ed and they had a snowball's chance in Hell of convincing him to join.

He walked away quickly, leaving the team with the gift of two gloved middle fingers followed by backwards peace signs as he quickly retreated to the stands, making a bee-line for the Gryffindor team.

Harry wasn't entirely sure because he couldn't very well see properly with or without his glasses at that moment in time, but he was sure Ed was massaging his shoulder where it abruptly turned to metal.

"I had no idea you were on the Slytherin team," Harry said as soon as Ed reached him and his team, all of whom, being closely associated with Harry, adopted him as an honorary Gryffindor. Ed grimaced and plopped down gracelessly onto the bench beside Harry, not caring about the water covering it.

"Neither did I," he grumbled bitterly, sending a scathing look to the team that, though they couldn't see, Harry was certain they all felt "I didn't exactly get a choice. Flint asked me - said he'd seen me fly in practice - I said no," Harry was very sure Ed had had a few more choice words than just "no" and had voiced each of them "so he went to Snape," Ed paused to glower at the floor before turning his head to the pitch below and shouting far louder than anyone of his age and stature should have been able to "DICKHEAD!" at a very surprised Marcus Flint who had definitely heard it. He coughed into a gloved hand and continued as Harry fruitlessly attempted to wipe unwanted water from his glasses "and I had no fucking choice in the matter," he looked down again before straightening his posture and staring Harry dead in the eye with a very disconcerting grin on his face.

Ed pulled his pocket watch from his pocket and fiddled with the chain as Harry felt a drop of sweat roll down his face. Somehow he felt he knew exactly where this was going.

Ed opened his mouth and, sure enough, Harry was right.

"If a stray bludger knocks him off of his broom it was an accident,"

Behind them Fred and George began to laugh with a sort of wicked intent that Harry feared and Ed supported tremendously.

"Of course," Fred began

"Accidents happen all the time," George finished. Both twins smiled knowingly before tugging Ed's braid and speeding off down the rows as fast as their legs could carry them.

"See ya later shorty!"

Ed was faster than them, had more stamina and wasn't scared to quite literally throw himself down the stairs at them; the Weasley twins didn't make it very far.

Fred and George landed roughly on the ground with a fuming Ed pinning them down by diggin his knees into their sternums so he could use his arms to gesture as he ranted the same nonsense as always. Harry pitied the twin that got the metal leg.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A PIPSQUEAK SO SMALL HE CAN'T BE SEEN BY THE NAKED EYE AND EVEN A QUARK WOULD TOWER OVER HIM?!"

Fred and George didn't know what that meant but, regardless, they didn't know whether to laugh, desperately gasp for breath or call for a teacher.

Harry had detention near enough straight after and, thanks to Lockhart's recommendation to McGonagall, was to go and help the man sort and reply to fanmail.

He really didn't want to.

Well, he supposed it beat having to do detention with Snape. Anything beat detention with Snape.

He was in Lockhart's room until late that night and, towards the end of it, felt a serious ache in his overworked hands. He sighed as he flexed his fingers and stretched his back, at last standing from the uncomfortable chair that was nothing like the comfortable ones by the fireplace in the common room that he would give anything to be sitting in at that moment.

He bid Lockhart farewell (though he was honestly thinking more along the lines of good riddance) and left the room. The corridors were dark and empty and silent.

At first the only noise was Harry's own footsteps on the hard floor, each sounding too loud, but then he could have sworn he heard something else.

It was like a whisper, indistinct and cryptic at first. It surrounded him, like it wasn't coming from anywhere in particular but was, instead, emanating from everywhere at once.

He passed it off as nothing more than a trick of his half-asleep mind at first but it soon became much more as he heard it again and again in quick succession. He still couldn't make sense of it but he couldn't ignore it any longer. He felt his heart race as he frantically searched his vicinity. Nobody was there.

Unsure as to what exactly he was doing, Harry found himself dizzily stumbling to the high, cold, stone walls. Surprisingly, the whisper grew louder and clearer.

Harry wished it hadn't.

"Kill. Kill. Kill! KILL!" It chorused incessantly and Harry didn't know how to react. So he kept his ear pressed to the cold stone, petrified, until a contrasting noise startled him out of his dazed state.

"Potter!"

It was Snape. Brilliant. Just his luck.

"Yes Professor?"

"What are you doing out of bed?" Harry didn't miss the twisted glee on his face. He knew it already of course, but Snape was very much biased towards his own house and took far too much joy in punishing those outside of it for any reason he could find.

"I'm afraid, Professor," the new voice startled Harry. He hadn't been expecting Lockhart to show up but was relieved that he had, even if he was generally rather useless "that is my fault. You see, young Harry was helping me sort through my fan mail and I'm afraid we lost track of time,"

Harry definitely had not lost track of time. He had lived through each excruciating second ten times over, felt the minute infinity of each minute as the clock failed to tick fast enough and each letter morphed into the next and his entire brain turned into barely functioning sludge. He had waited and waited for Lockhart to call it a day from the very minute they began.

He was almost glad to see the look on Snape's face. He was seeing Lockhart for the arrogant, bumbling idiot he was and, were he not so shaken, Harry might have felt inclined to giggle.

But, all the way back to Gryffindor tower after Snape had begrudgingly allowed him to leave and as he lay awake in his warm bed, he couldn't forget that raspy voice.

"Kill. Kill. Kill! KILL!"

 **A/N**

 **Hello. Look who is actually uploading in the time frame she said she would. Happy pride month everyone! Statistically speaking, me being the only LGBTQ person to interact with this fic is somewhat improbable so…**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed the new chapter - we're about to take our first steps into the good shit here and I'm excited.**

 **By the way, is anyone familiar with D gray-man? I discovered it the other day and I am in love and I mention this because there are ways in which I feel like it represents my beloved FMA.**

 **Feel free to follow, favourite and review, creative criticism is always welcome,**

 **All the best,**

 **We'reAllABitOdd**


	8. Chapter 8

The year progressed as it was bound to, September passing into October as the leaves turned from green to amber and began to succumb to the rhythm of the wind that carried them to their burial. They began to rot underfoot as the days became greyer and what was left of the leaves became the only colourful part of the land surrounding Hogwarts. One could smell the rain that filled the air and dampened clothes and hair.

With the new days came new lessons, most memorably that which involved the dreaded little devils: Cornish pixies. One would think of pixies as nuisances, sure, but harmless ones. They would be wrong.

Lockhart carelessly released a cage full of the miniature beasts into the classroom and Hell descended upon them without a shred of mercy. They giggled as they flew about the room, destroying it as they tugged at students' hair and clothes as well as the hanging decorations. They pulled down an animal skeleton and, thinking quickly, Ed was forced to dive out of the way and drag Hermione with him before either of them could be crushed.

"Oi, dickhead!" Ed called to the teacher who, somewhat strategically, chose to ignore him and, after a few failed attempts to cast a spell that would subdue the rampaging creatures, left a few of the students to fix his mess as he herded the rest of the class through the door, all the while protecting his "valuable" face.

Ed was fuming and Harry was certain Lockhart had made a poor decision when he left the blonde boy to clean up his mess. He grit his teeth and stared at the havoc around him with such a feral expression that even the pixies didn't dare near him. Instead they flocked to Neville who was yelling and sobbing as he was carried upwards by the creatures and strung on the chandelier, scarce heard amid the giggles and shrieks that filled the room.

Ed grabbed one in his metal hand as it flew too close to his face and instantly its gleeful, taunting giggles halted, replaced by tinkling gasps. He shoved it forcefully back into the cage, from where it made no attempt to escape as it tried to fill its minute lungs.

"Piss off you tiny fuckers!" he yelled at the pixies before drawing his wand with a flick of his wrist and freezing a group of them in place so he could roughly shove them back into the cage. Hermione sent disapproval towards the violence of his actions but got her own wand out and quickly followed suit, though with more precision, by freezing the rest of what Ed so eloquently referred to as "Tiny Fuckers" and getting everyone to help her scoop them back into the cage. Then Neville fell from the ceiling.

October began to pass just as September had, like the year was wasting away fairly uneventfully. Harry, Ron, Ed and Hermione would all, with little hesitation, admit it was kind of nice, the hassle of the prior year was draining and they'd found out quite a bit themselves about one of their own that year. It seemed to be enough.

But, as it happened, the Halloween of that year, much like that before if, brought upon them a downward spiral that only got faster the closer to the bottom you got.

Harry had gotten roped into attending the deathday party of his house ghost - Nearly Headless Nick - and he'd be damned if he were to go alone.

Hermione was easy enough to convince, she was fully prepared to be nice to the ghosts and was sure they held wealths of information in their brains (did ghosts have brains?) and she eagerly awaited the day they would share every last tidbit of it with her.

Ron was a bit more difficult. The boy could be compelled by a number of things but there was one thing that little else could win over: food. Harry was dragging Ron away from tables lined with the fine food of the celebratory feast. For what? A room full of people that needn't (and couldn't) eat. He could see why Ron was so reluctant.

Still, Ed was the worst. He may have had to spend the meal at the Slytherin table but he liked food as much as, maybe more than, Ron. Harry knew him, knew that he'd shovel as much food into his mouth as time would allow and only really taste any of it or feel the satisfaction of being full following the final of multifarious mouthfuls

Harry also knew that he hated the ghosts. It was as though, every time he looked at their shimmering, silver, ethereal forms, he saw a taunt, a jeer - as though their existence was an insult to his and he was bitter about it. Needless to say, Harry skirted around telling him that he was going to have to forfeit his place amongst living, though mostly spiteful, people and plates of warm food for an evening in a cold room permeated by that cold, unsettled chill that followed every ghost. Instead he merely introduced it as a surprise, something unprecedented that he would never be able to guess. Ed's nature was similar to Hermione's in numerous ways, though less mild: he, like her, could not leave knowledge hanging as close as it was and leave it be - they were both as nosey as they came (not that Harry was much better).

So they walked into the room as a group of four and the curious glint in Ed's golden eyes dimmed as they turned flat and stormy. Then they became alive again, not with the pretty glints of curious, wandering embers. No. They were alight with the roaring flames of red-hot anger that consumed everything in its path, that did not see anything worth sparing, only fuel to their flame that would keep them burning, brighter and brighter. Harry knew better than to stand before him when that look was in his eyes for he would, like all else, be mercilessly devoured in their fuming fit.

But he couldn't escape.

Ed turned to him and stood there for a moment in deafening silence as the curious chatter of the ghosts and the nervous words of their friends were drowned out by the suffocating nothingness. Harry blinked - once, twice, thrice - Ed did not. Another second then a minute. Then Ed's eyes closed and for a brief moment - nothing more than a flash in the pan - the fire was extinguished. Then, as though fueled by the blackness that had been before it, the fire burned brighter than ever as Ed opened his eyes and Harry stepped back, out of the door. Ed followed, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"YOU BASTARD! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? I'M NOT SPENDING MY HALLOWEEN WITH THOSE ABOMINATIONS!" he stormed off, up the corridor as quickly as he could without running. The uneven, metallic twinge in his gait became more prevalent than ever and his face seemed to have adopted a slightly sickly pallor.

Harry just stared after him like a wounded puppy, right up until the tail of his braid had followed him around the sharp corner and out of sight. Hermione and Ron approached Harry from behind and rested a hand each on his shoulders.

"Well," Hermione began, struggling to speak over the harsh disapproval of the painting hanging on the walls "that was a bad idea…"

As though to punctuate her point there was a loud bang, clearly a fist against the brick of the old walls (distinctly lacking any kind of metallic clang).

Ron looked pale, Harry would be tempted to call him ghostly, as he nodded his agreement with fear-filled eyes.

They walked back into the cold room without any further words and simply observed. They felt the wind as though they were outside as the chill of death permeated the small space. Furthermore, there was a certain stench about the room that answered for itself before they could even question it. The walls and ceiling were covered in copious amounts of black mold that had grown from likely centuries of dampness. Then there was the table across the room, funnily enough, piled high with food that the ghosts, who eagerly hovered about it, couldn't eat. Every item sitting upon it was rotting, well passed its use-by date several months before. Harry stared at it as he began to think Ed had the right idea. Nick hovered past and thanked him for coming with the sort of genuine cheer that suggested he hadn't actually expected the children to come.

"Where's that Slytherin friend of yours?" the ghost asked, cocking his head. It wobbled dangerously.

"Didn't want to come," Harry asked, not looking away from the snack table. Nick followed his line of sight and threw his head back as he choked out a bark of laughter. Ron only got paler as the head removed itself almost entirely from the neck, dangling from only a scrap of skin and a little viscera.

"Ghosts can't eat," he said. The kids were aware "but we can kind of taste if it's strong enough. The longer food rots, the more pungent it becomes," he then drifted away to the table in question. Hermione's dark eyes followed his retreating back with poorly concealed doubt written all over them. She doubted that was the case, they were probably just desperate to cling to the life they had lost so long ago, grasping at strands of connection to the loving that were likely only about as thick as the meagre strands that joined Nick's head and body and kept him from becoming a member of the Headless Hunt.

Ed got to the Great Hall long after everyone else and was bitter about the fact that he was able to eat less of the rich, delicious food than he would be otherwise. And what for? Ghosts! Of all the things it could have been it just had to be ghosts; the ghosts were, in Ed's mind, proof of one cheating death, proof that Truth's jurisdiction was not perfect, proof that he had lost to the same force a number of others had won against - many of whom were just as much blundering idiots as Gilderoy Lockhart. He noticed the distinct lack of them in the hall and sighed with relief into his pumpkin juice as he felt the sweetness wash away the bitterness Harry's trick had burdened him with. He ate like he would on any other day and left before Dumbledore gave his speech, figuring he'd escape the swarm of Slytherins that seemed to form around him whenever they were presented with the opportunity as well as ten minutes of boredom. He could find out if Dumbledore had said anything of importance from people in the halls if need be, and he wondered if he may have the opportunity to meet up with his friends - how long could they possibly spend with a room of dead people? - if only to cuss Harry out further.

So he wandered up the dimly lit hallway, passed angry paintings that clearly hadn't forgotten his face. He could hear every creak of his automail, every loud step of his combat boots, every creak of the floor, until he came near enough to the party for it to invade the silence. Harry, Ron and Hermione left the room as he passed by, as though they were running on a pre-planned schedule, and Ron walked right into him. Je jumped back straight away and waved his spindly hands in apology.

They talked as they traversed the halls, Hermione trying her best to keep the conversation as civil as she could possibly managed. It was working better than she had expected.

Then Ron froze and Hermione observed him apprehensively watching a line of wandering spiders. She almost giggled at how deeply irrational his fear was but then caught Harry's image in her periphery. He was as stationary as Ron, eyes glassy, and she couldn't comprehend why. For she couldn't hear the sinister whispered growl that grew in volume with every repetition of that one chilling word that it chorused.

"Kill, kill, kill"

He unfroze as though he were a screen that been taken off of pause and went running around the corner with a sudden burst of desperation. Ed followed without hesitation - showing the same baffling desperation - and Hermione hung back for a moment, mystified. She saw Ron's dismay as the spiders trooped on in the same direction as his friends. He shuddered and followed after her.

They soon came to a pause once again as the spotted the beloved cat of the caretaker and a note.

The cat dangled as though dead and the note consumed the wall, red and dripping as though written in blood.

 _Enemies of the heir, beware_.


	9. Chapter 9

If Hermione or Ron were to call themselves strangers to oddities they would also have to brand themselves as liars. Harry even more so. Yet Edward Elric, with all the worldly experience a person really needed in their entire life and then some securely under his belt after a meagre 12 years, bested them all.

Still, even he did not know what could possibly be the acceptable response to seeing a grumpy old man's mangy cat dangling from a sconce with a cryptic, bloody message scrawled in neat, dripping letters. So he settled for something that he often did when he didn't know how to respond to a situation.

"What the fuck?"

All four pairs of concerned, confused eyes remained glued to the scene. Even as the silence of the hallway was buried beneath the endless cacophony of varying footsteps and conversations of people who did not know what exactly they were about to happen upon.

Within the next five seconds the noise had changed.

Gone were the cheery voices and rushing feet. In their place stood the monster that was fear, looming over the children as they stood stationary to either side of the corridor, like a ravine. And, in the middle of that ravine, there were four second years who couldn't have appeared guiltier.

Harry couldn't place the exact moment the fear and surprise had been replaced with raging conspiracy but, sure enough, the loud voices soon found their way amongst the whispers.

There was one voice in particular that stood out as a certain student stood at the front of the crowd. In all his smarmy glory, Draco Malfoy began to speak.

"Enemies of the heir, beware," he read the writing everyone present had already read for themselves and for a brief moment Harry held an asinine spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would stop there. As always, the Boy who lived was devoid of luck.

"Hear that Mudbloods?" Ed really didn't want to listen to him and his puerile prejudice but he knew what that word meant and, thusly, knew he couldn't just ignore it.

It seemed as though the drama of the scene was adamant that it had to increase exponentially as another figure, much more aged and enfeebled than any of those already there, pushed into the centre of their ravine.

"Mrs. Norris, Mrs. Norris!" the resident caretaker called, spittle flying from between his thin, white lips as tears filled his eyes.

"You've killed her!" he turned on the group and let the anger wash away the pain and sorrow. He took shuffling steps towards the group of students, the shortest considerably less concerned than his peers had the intelligence to be.

He would have killed them then and there, without the time nor capacity to second guess himself or feel remorse, if another figure hadn't appeared amongst the seemingly ever-growing group.

It was a familiar and welcome figure whose very presence helped some of the welling panic within the Gryffindor trio to subside. Ed wasn't scared like they were - surprised and worried, sure - but he was far too capable to feel scared of the wizards. There were very few he was aware of that would survive a single one of the missions the Amestrian government had assigned him. The thought made him chuckle minutely. Hermione, as she was right beside him, stared at him with incredulity. Then she appeared to remember just who she was looking at and shook her head before letting out a giggle of her own.

The room had gone silent when Dumbledore appeared so their muffled laughs filled the room like claxons. Bad idea.

Filch's gaunt face flushed a resplendent crimson as his eyes filled with a fire that couldn't hope to rival the one she had seen in Ed's eyes earlier that day. Now she understood why he had laughed in the first place.

"Did you hear that?!" he was so angry but Ed just couldn't bring himself to feign fear that may have helped appease him "Those rotten children are laughing. Think this is funny?!" he snarled, revealing rows of crooked, yellowish teeth and gaps where they had once been.

"Now now, Argus," Dumbledore began his attempts placate the man long after it became clear none of the children would to help him do so "I'm sure the laughter was just a nervous reaction,"

It wasn't. Ed was about to make sure he knew that but, as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, Hermione met him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

He took the warning.

"They killed her!" Filch protested, tears finally falling, cutting through the dirt and dust his work had left sprinkled over what was newly revealed to be deathly pale skin. It made sense - nobody had ever seen Filch outside.

"She isn't dead, Argus," Dumbledore assured, checking the small animal over with nimble, practised hands "Just petrified,"

"And they bloody done it!" Argus accused, brandishing a crooked finger towards four children who were, regarding the situation at hand, entirely innocent.

"No second year, no matter how advanced" He sent a knowing look to Ed and Hermione, both known for being at the very top of their year by a gap many of the other students viewed as insurmountable.

"But, but," Argus grasped for threads that simply weren't there "I know they done it," the accusation was half-hearted at best and his fury died. Dumbledore shook his head in subdued pity.

That brought up the question of exactly how she had been petrified. What was it that was wandering around Hogwarts with the capability and desire to petrify? Was it really the same thing that had scrawled on the wall? Was petrification and an ominous, frightening message really its only aim?

Who, or what, was the heir?

There were too many questions that flooded the heads of the four kids who had first found the cat. And, even if they had never talked to either of them, there was something everyone knew with unwavering uncertainty about Edward Elric and Hermione Granger.

They absolutely hated not knowing things.

The people that knew this best? Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter. So, just like that, any last fleeting hopes the friends might have held for having their first peaceful year at Hogwarts disappeared entirely.

Actually, they were kind of glad. They were growing bored.

They might not have known what was going on but Dumbledore made it clear that he had some inkling, as the old man examined the scene his face betrayed a dreading sense of recognition.

Ed watched with a mischievous glint in his sharp eyes as Dumbledore and Filch left and the crowds of students quickly dissipated. They stayed behind and congregated in a corner in which they could hold a private conversation after everyone had left.

Harry eyed the wall with pity, hoping that one of the other staff members would come by after curfew, before Filch had to see the grim reminder in the morning. He sincerely hoped that it wouldn't be left to Filch himself; the mental image of the man wiping away at the dried blood on the wall with a sponge or mop was a depressing one.

"So," Ed began with a feral smile on his face "We have to listen in on their staff meeting,"

"Staff meeting?" Ron asked, confused "When did they say anything about a staff meeting?"

"They didn't," Hermione informed "It's only natural that they'd have one though. After all, what's just happened is alarming," She smiled in an odd way that made Ron and Harry look between them.

They realised, not for the first time, how similar Ed and Hermione had the capacity to be. When they were both at their lightest, unburdened by their pasts, responsibilities, or other people's expectations, feeling like they were free to be kids. It was both great to see and completely and utterly terrifying.

With little further conversation, they went running down the hallway on almost silent feet until they heard the first signs of the voices of the teachers as the issue was addressed.

"I fear," McGonagall began in an uncharacteristically shaky voice that made the kids wonder just how serious the issue was "I fear that the chamber has been reopened," She spoke quickly as though it would cause the statement to be any less true."

"Surely you can't mean the Chamber of Secrets?" Sprout gasped, hand, still stained with mud, held before her mouth. She didn't sound disbelieving, more so like she didn't want to believe. McGonagall nodded with regret and the staff gasped collectively.

Just what was this chamber?

The staff meeting was bound to disband any minute, so the kids left. They ran to their dorms as quickly as they could and Ed was thankful he had practice because, before he reached the staircase, he could hear the steady, deliberate tapping of Snape's shoes on the floor far behind him. He was fast and silent and slipped by unnoticed. He just hope his friends had the same luck.

The next morning their first class was in all kinds of disarray, filled with nervous energy, chatter and unrest so persistent not even McGonagall had any hope in fixing it. So, in the end, she had to settle for letting them sit and ask questions. They were all curious and she knew that they could be in danger if things progressed like they had before.

Hermione raised her hand and McGonagall, knowing the girl mostly as a sycophant but also knowing that she was as mischievous as the boys that sat around her with expressions ranging from disinterest to fear to amusement, called on her.

"Professor, I was wondering if you might tell us something about the chamber of secrets?"

If McGonagall had been holding something she may have dropped it. It was a wonder how Hermione and her friends had found out about the chamber but, if their first year had been anything to go by, they had ways of finding things out. She assumed they were against the school rules but, so long as she had no confirmation of that, she didn't mind. It had been a great asset last year.

"Well, while I'm sure you all know about the founders of Hogwarts, but there's a legend surrounding this school," and so she explained the legend of the chamber of secrets, the room supposedly built within the school at an undisclosed location by Salazar Slytherin before his departure. "It is said only the heir of Slytherin himself will be able to open the chamber," She told them, making the bloody message from the night before appear in their minds, the message at last making a modicum of sense "And, in this chamber, it is said they will find a monster,"

"And is that monster what petrified Filch's cat?" Ron asked apprehensively.

"Well, Mr. Weasley, even the very existence of the chamber is debatable," Ed looked over her analytically. She was scared of this chamber - it almost certainly existed somewhere deep in the bowels of the ancient school "but speculation might say so,"

The school day dragged by far too slowly for four students who were anxious to figure out what was going on before it was too late, like they had last year. They had done it once, they were positive they would be able to do it again.

As soon as they were dismissed from their final class - defence against the dark arts with Lockhart who had clearly learnt something from the first lesson and hadn't been idiotic enough to bring in live creatures again - they pushed their way in front of the rest of the class, Hermione turning a blind eye upon her obvious crush on Lockhart (she had circled his lessons on her timetable with hearts!) to leave with haste.

They sprinted up staircases and across hallways and landings, Ed predictably far ahead and breathing fine as the rest of them were panting like dogs, traversing the path to the library with a certain familiarity no one else in their year could rival. The staircases moved and shifted but that could not deter them.

They burst into the library, not slowing. Madam Pince was forced to watch them with gritted teeth, knowing that if she were to scold them like she would any other student they would simply ignore her. She was acquainted with those children. They knew things. They were good researchers and, two of them especially, spent a lot of their free-time in the library. Therefore, she knew this was not how they normally acted - she knew this was how they acted when they were on a mission.

Sure enough, they made a beeline to the shelves, scanning them quickly before pulling down any they deemed hopeful and then sitting with the books piled up around them. Hermione was sat at the table, bent over a book, her eyes making quick work of the pages, with a neatly stacked collection next to her. Ron and Harry sat in their chairs, limbs thrown every which way, much like their collected books that were thrown across the table with little care. Hermione was too absorbed in her own research to chide them for their haphazard organisation. Ed sat on the floor beside them, legs crossed in the middle of what was essentially an architectural structure made of stacked books. He read faster than even Hermione, chin resting in his left hand as his right turned the pages.

Hermione had never been able to decipher the way he organised things, but he always seemed to know where to look next, what books he had already read, what would be most helpful. It was quite impressive.

The children showed little sign of moving as the sun began to set in the sky outside, painting the picture through the window with pinks and yellows that were soon replaced with a sheet of black. The full moon glistened proudly above the school as the long shadows of the trees of the forest began to fade.

Pince sighed and made her way to the kids. She looked them over. Poor Potter looked half asleep and Weasley was very much asleep, drooling on the desk and snoring lightly. She shook her head, somewhere between amusement and anger. Elric and Granger were, well Elric and Granger. As she had expected, the two were still leant over books, the pile of those they still had to read having thinned out considerably. Their tired eyes were unrelenting and they gleaned their resources for information with a studious diligence that made it very clear why they were at the top of their year and Weasley, perhaps, was not.

WHen they were reading it was difficult to pull them out of their focus. In Elric's case it was very much impossible so she gently tapped Granger's shoulder. The reaction was delayed but the girl turned, her masses of frizzy hair bouncing as she looked at the librarian with dark, intelligent eyes, dulled by need for rest.

"Oh!" She exclaimed with embarrassment "Had it gotten that late?" She distantly registered the rumbling of Ron's stomach and cursed herself for letting them miss dinner.

"I'm afraid it has, Miss Granger," Madam Pince smiled "WOuld you possibly be able to gather your friends and head back to your dorms?"

Hermione looked down at Ed who was still lost in the void of his own concentration. She waited a moment for him to finish his chapter and, as he looked up for the first time in a long while, she nimbly snatched the book from his metal fingers.

"Time to go," She told him. He yawned and stretched and nodded in agreement.

There was no noise in the SLytherin common room when Ed walked in, bleary eyed and desperate enough for sleep that he was half tempted to collapse onto one of the armchairs or settees and stay there as the night turned to day. He decided against it and pulled himself sluggishly up the stairs to his dorm. He could hear chatter.

Draco Malfoy was talking confidently about the heir of Slytherin but, the moment Ed opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. He sneered at the shadow of Ed's form as Ed walked over to his bed, collapsing on it and quickly drawing the curtains. The chatter did not continue and, as he drifted into a very welcome state of sleep, Ed cursed himself for having not stayed outside of the door to eavesdrop.

When Ed was jogging the next morning he had to grind his teeth against the cold. He really didn't like the UK sometimes. He ran past Hagrid's hut, able to hear the man's deep snores from outside, and relished in the split moment of warmth that it provided.

As he headed began to head back to the school he noticed something he had noticed the other day. There was a trail of spiders of varying sizes traversing the wet grass between the school and the forest. He stared at them intently before dismissing them. Breakfast was more important.

Hermione walked down to breakfast to find Ed thickly spreading jam on his toast.

"Morning," He greeted, washing down his mouthful with pumpkin juice.

"Good morning," She smiled, seating herself beside him at the otherwise empty table. It was kind of funny how a non-Gryffindor almost always claimed the Gryffindor table before any Gryffindors had the chance to.

"Did you find anything yesterday?" He asked her as she poured herself some milk. He stared at her goblet in disgust that made her giggle slightly.

"Nothing," She admitted "How about you?"

"Nothing of relevance," He shook his head "But I did overhear Draco talking about the heir before I walked into the dorm. He stopped talking as soon as I walked in though, so I couldn't tell you if he knows something or not. I can't quite decide which of those options he would want to hide from me,"

Hermione sighed "I just hope that this doesn't happen again,"She looked over at Ed who didn't look very hopeful. "What?" She asked.

"It's just, well, look," He put down his toast and rested his forehead on his hands "The teachers wouldn't be so worried if they believed this to be an isolated incident. If all that happened was that a cat got petrified McGonagall wouldn't be scared,"

"Yeah…"

At that moment Hermione wished for nothing more than she wished for a distraction. But it was a Saturday, she didn't have classes and she was bitter about it. With all the panic of the week, they didn't even have very much homework!

She sighed and stared glumly at her toast.

"Come on!" ED encouraged "That gives us more of a chance to research," She nodded along but stopped as she watched a sly grin bloom on his face. She shuffled away from him but that couldn't have hoped to help her "Maybe we can all do some flying,"

Hermione didn't like flying. She wasn't the best at it, she wasn't the worst. She was too cautious to play quidditch but you couldn't blame her. The brooms felt too flimsy to her - if she were going to fly she would rather do it on something that did not dip and buckle and display every minor bit of turbulence. She understood flying and quidditch, but she didn't like the idea of flying on a cleaning tool.

"No." She decided.

"Oh, come on!" Ed insisted "It will be fun! I never get to have fun flying anymore - the Slytherin team are dicks!"

Hermione found herself sighing an awful lot Around Ed "Fine,"

Ed's smiles were usually feral but, every now and then, there would be one that was genuinely joyful. This was one of those rare few.

Ed and Harry were already standing at the meeting place Madame Hooch had assigned them when she had permitted their activity by the time that Hermione and Ron had fetched their school brooms.

"I can't believe madame Hooch let us do this," Hermione said ruefully as she stared ruefully up into the grey vault of the sky above. It looked and smelled like rain.

"I can," Ed and harry said in unison "She loves us!"

"You sound like Fred and George," Ron jokingly complained, a smile on his face.

Hermione resigned herself to her fate and actually felt rather happy about it. Perhaps she didn't like flying but her friends did and she liked seeing them happy. She mounted her broom before any of them and sprung into the air, feeling the bitter wind whip around her as she shivered. Ed looked up at her and joined her quickly, red coat pulled tight against himself as a barrier between himself and the wind that Hermione wished she had. They hovered for a moment, higher than they had ever gone in their flying lessons but still far below the height of the quidditch hoops they could see in the distance, little, yellow figures flying between them.

From the height, even under the unpleasant slate sky, Hogwarts was more beautiful than it had ever been from the ground; it was breathtaking to be able to see all the little details in the towers of the castle she couldn't have hoped to have seen from so far below. Wordlessly, she directed herself towards Gryffindor tower and slowly began to glide towards it.

Ed flew in her direction much faster than she had, hair flying in the wind behind him. Harry and Ron followed. They slowed when they reached her, letting her pace be the one they followed. She was glad.

The broom bucked beneath her as she admired the intricacy of the tower but she didn't panic like she normally would. No. She settled herself into a more comfortable position and breathed in the cold air. Her heart rate settled, much like the broom, and she kept flying.

She ran her fingers over one of the gargoyles at the top of the school, the details very much intact despite the stone having been worn down to a very rough texture by the years of weathering. She giggled as she clumsily tried to manoeuvre herself away from the school and out into the open. The boys followed with much more precision, allowing her, as the least experienced flyer, to lead them.

She was getting more comfortable as the time went on but she still had a few things to worry about.

"How do you guys play quidditch on these things? It's getting a little bit easier to control this thing but I couldn't imagine having to fly around the goal," She looked at Ron, knowing he played in goal when he played with friends and family "or dive for the snitch," She looked at Harry, remembering every time she had seen him follow the snitch "Or fly with one hand," She had seen Ed flying around with his hand grabbing his beater's bat, swinging his arm with a vigour that surely upset his balance.

The boys looked at each other before turning back to her with smiling faces. Those were the type of smiles that came with a promise. She wasn't sure how eagre she was to find out what exactly that promise was.

"Why don't you find out?"

Hermione instantly regretted asking.

Ed pulled his wand out from his pocket and Hermione looked at the dark wood with dread. He twirled it between his metal fingers for a moment, giving Hermione time to admire just how fine the motor skills in his prosthetics were. She wondered why they hadn't yet reached anywhere else in the world besides his home of Amestris.

"I don't know if we can get any actual quidditch balls, but I have a bat and I'm sure someone has a football. I'll go and get the bat - you guys go see if you can find a ball,"

"Sure," Hermione said.

She watched as he dived to the floor in an essentially vertical decline.

"How do you guys do that?" She asked, shaking her head.

"Be confident, don't be too scared about falling," Harry answered.

She shook her head again as she leant down in a gradual line.

They returned five minutes later with an old, scuffed football belonging to one of Ron and Harry's roommates. They waited a moment more before Ed came running out of the school with his broom in one hand and bat in the other. He joined them in the air, bat in his right hand as his left loosely held onto the dark wood of his broom.

"You got it?" It wasn't really a question, he could very clearly see the old football "Good," He nodded and flew away quickly. He waved his bat in the air and Ron, getting the message, threw the ball his way. He hit it expertly towards Harry who dived after it, catching it in both hands as he stilled himself in the air . Hermione could hear the sound of impact and had to wonder, with his metal arm and more effort than he had put into the easy hit, just how hard Ed could bat the ball. Harry tucked it under one arm and span to face Hermione. He threw it so it would be easy to catch, just like he was playing a muggle game of netball - why couldn't this be netball?

Hermione gathered up the courage to remove her hands from the broom and yelped as she caught the ball, tucking it under her arm as quickly as she could so that she could put a hand back on the broom to stabilise herself. She turned shakily to face Ron and leant back a little so she could throw the ball. Ron caught it and threw it at Ed who, with an impish expression on his face, hit it with more force than Hermione had ever seen a bludger hit before. Ron and Harry laughed as they dived after it. Hermione sent Ed a look before leaning forwards as fast as she could and trying to forget her concerns about flying . She caught up to Ron as Harry caught the ball and found her friends looking at her with bright smiles.

The rain began to pour as they landed and headed back inside for lunch. Hermione's hair was wet and she was tired and out of breath and there was sweat in her eyes and a splinter in her thumb but she didn't think, in the entirety of her time on Earth, she had ever felt happier.


	10. Chapter 10

It was cold, the air full of rushing wind and almost frozen particulates if water, steel clouds an impenetrable barrier between the earth and the sun, but there was a sort of burning feeling that raced across Hermione's skin. She didn't have quite the words to describe it beyond "wrong", something was wrong and her skin was screaming at her to move and fix it. She wished she could.

She tried to ignore her searing skin and the rain tearing at her eyes that were dried again as soon as the wind flushed her face a little more. She kept her dry eyes focused on the Quidditch match and tried to suppress what could only have been baseless superstition.

Yes. That was it! Superstition, nothing to it. Nothing was going to go wrong, everything was fine and normal and she was just a silly paranoid little girl.

She was so impossibly close to convincing herself to believe the train of thoughts that circled in her mind when she could see Hagrid pull his binoculars away from his beady eyes.

"Bloody Hell," Ron said, quiet in a way that made him sound scared as his pale face turned whiter. She flicked her eyes to the spot where her friends were focusing and watched in horror as the bludger flew at Harry.

The ball was meant to be batted around by beaters, not chase players like it had a vendetta against them. The ball tailing Harry who had to keep diving and darting in all manner of strange directions seemed to be ignoring its nature. Ed, Fred, and George all dived after the demonic ball, game forgotten, bats at the ready.

Ed got there first, steadying the wooden bat in his metal hand before hitting the ball with all the force he could. It was an insane hit; the ball flew over the stands and away from the pitch, disappearing in the distance for a moment. If it were a normal bludger then it would have been out of commision for the rest of the game. But it was no normal bludger. It passed just beyond the threshold of Hermione's vision before it turned around and began hurtling back towards them.

"Forget the fucking game!" Ed yelled so loudly Hermione was sure the beasts in the forbidden forest could hear it "Get off the broom and don't get hurt!"

Harry nodded meekly and dived towards the ground, hesitating only for a moment when the snitch zipped past his ear. In that brief moment the bludger caught up to him and he didn't even have time to reach for the snitch as he was being shoved away from the snitch by something much more considerate than an enchanted bludger.

"The game doesn't matter!" Ed had been shouting so much Harry was sure his lungs must burn but he needed to yell to be heard over the commotion of the crowd and the roaring of the wind. Harry hit the ground and ran from the hurtling ball, darting past Madame Hooch as she declared the rest of the game was to be called off, then through the bleachers as people flocked down from them. He kept running and running until every fibre of every one of his muscles protested his every move and his lungs felt like they were filling with ice.

A conglomerate of voices called out a series of spells until, at last, with a final yell in the distinctive tone of one albus Dumbledore, his pursuer fell lamely to the ground and rolled pathetically on the slight slope of the grassy terrain.

He collapsed a moment after, trying to draw air into his deprived lungs as the moisture from the grass soaked into his clothes and he hadn't the energy to care. Hagrid was by his side soon enough with a bottle of water that he gratefully took and greedily gulped at. There was this sort of vague outrage that hummed through the air, whether it was from the teachers who wanted to know who was responsible for the enchantments placed upon the bludger immediately, or from the Slytherin team who were pissed they had lost their chance for an easy win against Gryffindor - especially Draco who swore he was seconds away from catching the snitch when the game was called off.

Harry couldn't sleep. There hadn't been any students willing to own up to the bludger incident and his usual culprit was out if the question because there was no way Draco could have spelled the ball mid game. He needed to get up, get out of his room, get away from Ron's snoring, think in solitude and perfect silence. So he stood, slipped the invisibility cloak over himself and quietly made his way out of the dorm and then out of the common room.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going. His feet were carrying him as if they had their own consciousness and the rest of Harry's body was merely their cumbersome passenger. Still, they knew to tread silently and which paths to follow without leading him to certain death or a labyrinth of moving floors and stairs that had no rhyme or reason to them that would sooner have him find the Minotaur (he'd have to ask someone if that particular creature existed, actually) than a way back to the common room high up in Gryffindor tower.

With a distinct lack of anything maze-like or belonging to any myth he had not seen released into actuality before, he found himself standing somewhere familiar. He didn't know how or why he was there.

The school's medical bay stood before him, dim lights shining out from within, casting a faint orange glow that flickered like the conjured fires that produced it were doing the same. The door was hanging wide open, like it was being held that way, practically inviting rule-breaking wanderers in. He held his breath, aware of the gentle, undecipherable sound of nondescript words that were barely more than whispers, and passed through the open door.

He wished he hadn't.

Filch's cat had been left hanging like a grim message. This wasn't like that. This was no message; this was an attack that was meant to say nothing more than "you're not safe" because they could not yet be sure of exactly who it was that was in danger.

For, who was like Colin Creevey?

Depending on what way you looked at it, everyone would find something they had in common with the scrawny first year who held his camera so tightly one might mistake it for his life support. Everyone with an ounce of paranoia flowing through their arteries and veins or swimming in the pit of their stomach or hijacking a lobe of their brain would be able to think of a reason that it might be them: they might be the next to wind up flat on their back, stiff as a board in the medical bay, suspended in a still frame of whatever it was they happened to be doing before it got them.

"It's happening again, the chamber has opened," Madam Pomfrey spoke with a desperate urgency that was so opposed to her usual calming tones that never seemed to dip or sway from their soothing monotone. Now, though, they dipped, swayed, danced, leaped, and from from that balance into a kind of chaos that was also in the manic light in her eyes and the trembling of her pale limbs.

"I fear it may be," Dumbledore, however, remained cool and nonchalant, like nothing was anything different from what he had suspected would happen. It was like he was above the school, watching over every piece of disorder and giggling as he watched the students and staff try to fix what he could have done with little more than a wave of his wand and an amount of effort comparable to a single grain of sand.

Harry didn't stick around to see what else they had to say. He wanted to. But he just couldn't.

It was his traitorous feet again, rushing him away before he had time to compute the waxy statue that stared blankly at a ceiling it couldn't see and clutched a camera so tightly its knobbly knuckles had turned white.

When Harry woke up the next morning there was so little clarity in the world around him he felt it was fair to hope last night had been a twisted dream. There were no overzealous first years laying paralysed in hospital beds.

Except, there were. And everyone knew. There was chatter about it filling every corner of the school students could find their way into, some voices hushed, others loud, some scared, others sad, the odd one boisterous, whether through an odd display of nervousness or a sense of superiority would appear to vary from person to person.

Harry threw on his uniform so quickly he wouldn't be surprised to find out not a single article of it was worn quite correctly. He rushed from the tower, heading down the floors as quickly as he could on stairs with trick steps and patterns he still hadn't learnt, looking for his friends as if they might have answers he didn't. In his hurry, he bumped into a Weasley red-head, just not the one he'd been hoping for.

He granted Percy a quick greeting and rushed past, trying to ignore the exuberance on the older boy's face that seemed too out of place to be anything but off putting.

He was stopped not long after by a large hand on his arm, pulling him a little too roughly to the side.

"Ron!" he almost yelled, catching his voice just before it grew loud enough to send an echo ringing down the long corridor.

"Shush!" Ron commanded, eyes darting around skittishly as he pulled Harry a little further down the corridor and into a room Harry had never been in before. It quickly became evident why.

"These are the girls' toilets!" Harry insisted, just in case Ron was unaware and really as dull as Snape seemed to believe.

"I know," Ron inclined his head to a stall door that was slightly ajar "ask the two mad scientists what's going on, I haven't a clue, mate,"

Harry nodded wordlessly and walked across the room uncomfortably, nudging the door open with the toe of his shoe.

Ed and Hermione were sat on the dusty tiles, heads so close they were practically pressed together over the pewter cauldron that sat between their crossed legs, bubbling slightly as the colour shifted like a fog passing over a blue lake.

"What are we doing in the girls' loos?" Harry stood over them as Ron strolled over.

"Brewing Polyjuice potion," Ed told him with an airiness that made it seem like he had just said he was popping to the shops. He craned his neck a bit more as he traced a metal finger, no glove to be seen, over the aged page of a potions book.

"What?!" Harry insisted. Hermione opened her mouth to answer as Ed added crushed something to the potion, the coloured liquid running across steel making it clear why he had forgone the gloves, but Harry cut in with another question before a word had left her parting lips. "Why the girls' toilets?!"

"Relax," Hermione told him, for once seeming as if she was very much doing so "No one ever comes in here,"

"Why?" he hesitantly took a seat on the tiles next ro Ron who had apparently sunk to the floor a minute or two ago.

"Moaning Myrtle," Hermione shrugged, plucking a pencil from between Ed's left fingers (where had he gotten a pencil??) Before he could place it between his sharp teeth. She glanced momentarily at what looked to be a checklist before stirring the contents of the cauldron. Ed slumped against the stall wall.

"Who's Moaning Myrtle?" Ron asked, absently scratching at the side of his slightly crooked nose.

"I'm Moaning Myrtle!" an unfamiliar, nasal voice declared as the ghost of a bespectacled teenage girl wearing a Hogwarts uniform appeared. It seemed like she wanted to talk to Harry, like she was trying to flirt with him, but Ron seemed to upset her and the mistrust in Ed's eyes and whatever it was about him that seemed to frighten even the Bloody Baron certainly wasn't helping.

With a loud wail, somewhere between anger and anguish that Harry couldn't quite find a name for, she dove into the toiler of the stall next to them, sending a wave of water spilling out from it. The water hit the floor with a loud noise and began to move quickly across the floor. It was only stopped from reaching them by a quick, muttered spell from Ed that Harry couldn't pick up on. He hadn't even seen him draw the wand, but the darkwood tool had soon stopped the water in a straight line that was in no way natural, and, soon after, disappeared the mess entirely.

"So," Harry tried again "Polyjuice potion?"

"It's a complicated potion," Hermione began, handing the potion-making duties to Ed without any words or communicative looks - it was like they were working as a single, mechanical unit. "Essentially, it can give you the physical appearance of any human - be it wizard or muggle - whose DNA you add. I found it in book I so happened to have checked out from the library,"

"Brilliant," Harry suppressed an urge to clap his hands like an easily-entertained child.

"The problem is that it takes like a month to make," Ed drew another sloppy tick and tucked the pencil behind his ear as not to give Hermione a reason to take it from him again.

"Always gotta be the negative one, mate," Ron shook his head.

"And we need some ingredients we don't have," Hermione screwer up her nose.

"What kind of ingredients?" Harry tore his eyes from the ever-changing potion-in-progress to watch his friends.

He wished he hadn't when he saw that grin of Ed's that promised something bad was gonna happen.

"Like the kind we're gonna have to steal from Snape,"

 **A/N It's been a while, as in way too long, but here's a chapter! I know it isn't particularly long or anything spectacular, but it's something. I'm seriously sorry for how actually shit I am at uploading.** **All the best,** **We'reAllABitOdd**


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